As I’m sure every reader of this blog knows, April is National Poetry Month. Surely, we’re all using this time to reflect on the ethereal beauty and transformative power of the poems we hold near and dear, or at least giving more thought than usual to men we once knew from Nantucket, but at some point, don’t we all want to get our Bill Shakespeare on? To honor this month of metered verse, I give you the following:
Roses are red, violets are blue
If you’re buying a beer, can you get me one too?
A sip is a buzz and I’m feeling alright.
"Good evening fair barkeep! Hope you’re splendid tonight!"
Something frothy and frosty is the ticket for me.
Ah, who am I kidding? I’d drink gasoline.
So pour me a pint, bartender’s choice.
In no time at all, I’ll have Josh Groban’s voice.
Just joking about that, he’s pretty much junk.
But seriously, I sing awesome when I’m drunk.
Two beers I’m happy, six beers I’m shot
Eight beers, "Eh, I guess that she’s kind of hot."
Another one here please! The night is still young!
See that girl in the corner? I’m gonna kiss her with tongue!
"Yo girl what’s up? Let’s have a romance."
"You smell like a hobo toweled off with your pants."
That girl is dumb, with a poor sense of smell,
my pants are just fine, it’s my farts that are hell.
Off to the bathroom with a bladder full up
but the line’s out the door so I go in a cup.
The bouncer’s not pleased, seems to have a short fuse
and his neck vein throbs hard when I spill on his shoes.
Now I’m bloodied and bruised and the night is all done
But I wonder who ever said, "Tuesdays are no fun."