Sunday 12 January 2014

January 12: Beer and toast for tea ...


My wife's gone and left, I am so bereft, I think I'll have beer for tea,

She'll be gone for a week, from North Queensland she'll speak, from a flashy hotel by the sea.
A conference of critters, now don't get the jitters, they're just talking and chewing the fat,
About how to save them from all those who hate them. It's tough just being a bat.

I said I'd go too, just too look at the view on the beaches while she was there learnin'

She said not a chance; you'll end up in a trance, stay at home and get back to earnin'

So I sit here at work, defending some jerk, for acting a lot like a leer,
And later I'll go home, turn off the phone and get stuck into my dinner of beer.

Now I know she has fled, it was just me in the bed, alone with my pillow and dreams,
That dinner of beer? It's still very clear, just moments ago so it seems,
But the alarm it has sounded, my head it has pounded. I shower and don a clean suit,
I'm onto day two, just what will I do, looks like dinner tonight might be fruit.

Yes, fruit it will do, I think I'll have two, some shiraz and perhaps cabernet,
Won't go over the top, will just have a drop, just enough so I see the next day,
I reckon I'd like it up there, where the maidens are bare, I promise you darl I won't gawk
I'd sit silent and still, and not act the dill, only speaking when summoned to talk.

Bit still I lament, my money's all spent on fruit, round, purple and red,

Well not in that form, more like liquid's the norm, that stuff that screws with your head,
When I said I'd eat proper, it wasn't a whopper, but I probably messed with the truth,

Pizza sounds nice, but not more than twice, and too much curry is just so uncouth.



I shoulda made plans, I can cook with my hands, turning steaks, it can't be that hard,

But sixteen beers later, I'm still reading the paper and the rib-eye has turned into card.

Looks like toast and red wine. That sounds mighty fine. Wonder what bread's like soaked in Jim Beam?
I should have a go, I can't die and not know, that would be like a bad dream.

But that's enough for today, I put the bottle away, and got out the eggs and the bacon,

All this talk of fine wine, lots of bottles, all mine? You'll have guessed by now I'm just fake'n,

Who can rhyme when they're smashed, this prose would be trashed, if I was a cut as I'm saying,

I'm as straight as a die, just look in my eye, am I joshin' or am I just playin'?

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