The Perils Of Alcohol
I didn’t want to hurt you.
I gave you plenty of warnings, didn’t you hear?
I wept a little, as I looked down at the corpses.
Of the slugs, in my trap, made from beer.
Nearly deaf Dave, accepted my invitation.
To dine, cordon bleu, like a god.
“You promised a posh pub meal!” he argued, to prostration,
As he tucked into another gastropod.