I shall not get drunk today

[Brownlie]

I got lazy and didn't finish this but I decided to make Dale's poem much more dramatic.

I dare not think of sweating cans
Metallic traps that snap
A promise with a cracking lid
But still I think, Perhaps

My greener days are spent away
On wishing wells I drank
Awaiting on my weekly stub
I shall not break the bank

But shall is such a fickle word
It looks ahead in time
Ensnaring space inside a beard
That seeks to hold my dime

I stow away my thoughts somewhere
And seek to feed myself
The frig is filled with spoiled food
That aged upon a shelf

Behind a lemon fizz that’s flat
My spring begins to bud
I lick my lips upon a croak
And slam the handle shut



I can’t explain my racing chest
That rashly guides me now
Could it be this tiny bottle
That draws a furrowed brow?

This can is but a humble swain
In fading country paint
Without an oaten specious tune
Engrained in one so quaint

I need to rake the autumn leaves
And clean the fallen scat
I hear my bugle shrilly cry
And here I dream of Pabst…

Dale's Poem:
I shall not get drunk today,
I have no money anyway,
still half week before pay day,
and as I open up the frig,
I spy behind the lemon fizz,
just one small and tiny beer,
pretending it’s not even there,
“I’m invisible," it seems to say.
No, I shall not get drunk today.

There’s yard work that I need do,
a big pile of doggie poo,
tools left by… I don’t know who.
Opening the garage door,
I see messy messes there galore,
sitting there upon the floor,
today I think I won’t be bored,
and in my will I will not sway.
No, I shall not get drunk today.

I’m going good, worked up a sweat,
though I’m not nearly half done yet,
but soon I think, yes soon I’ll bet.
Overheated, yes I think,
a glass of water from the sink,
opening the frig I say “Oh dear!”
Without a pal, there is that beer,
friends he needs to make him cheer’,
so to the store I’ll make my way.
“By God, I shall get drunk today!”