Alcoholism in Prehistory


The wooly mammoth stumbled into the pub
a hairy swaying beast with tusks,
unable speak and in need of scotch

the three ochre monks raised their glasses of rosewater
and beckoned the giant over to their table,

where they produced a bucket of single malt
and placed it lovingly next to his twitching trunk

he was drunk already
and the only thing to do with a wooly mammoth
who is too wasted to walk straight

. . . is to finish the job


Leave a comment

Filed under poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s