Nine dead soldiers
Casualties of the battle with the bottle,
On tabletop ridge , soon to be replaced,
Buy some full-bodied new recruits,
Freshly released from the back of the fridge.
Brimming with Dutch courage,
with a full lively young head
in just a matter of hours,
they too will be dead.
Casualties of a conflict ,
they were destined to lose,
But there are no real winners,
In the battle with the booze .
Once hostilities commence, you’re on your own,
It’s every man for himself,
beware the battle hardened lush,
a victim of the the top shelf.
At the end of the evening,
The casualties, are rounded up and taken away,
Table tops are cleaned and made ready,
To do battle the following day.
There are no winners, in this age old battle,
Neither side will give in,
Sadly the casualty be it bottle or drinker,
will probably end up in the bin .
Cheers I’m off for a pint 🍺
Nicely done, lots of parallels to explore in this poem. I really liked this.
Very clever. The bottles as young soldiers. The idea of fresh recruits. And then the reveal of the battle with booze. Good stuff