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Bartender Oh Bartender
(a stout rendition of O Captain! My Captain!
Perfect rhythmic rhyme with tonic 
when the doth ale).

Mine eyes espy the glory per the ending 
of another work day beckon Baileys Irish Creme
with Absolut certainty that Fireball named Brandy 
the Patron Crown Royal abets dream
quest proof positive to expunge stressful Boss 
distilling this cooked Grey Goose a gleam
with nary a clue how my ceaseless toiling efforts 
play within the lager corporation scheme
assigning exemplary skills and talents within 
what appears to be a trumped up losing team.

No exit out this grueling 
twenty first century rat trap 
when The Chips Are Down,
whereby Scotch chief en gin that air
except to drawn displeasure 
and wallow in sorrows 
downing Booze or house brand beer
despite  drunken state 
erodes axons and synapses 
snap like chattering teeth of broken gear
quickly cause tenuous grasp on queasy reality, 
sanity, and tenacity rent asunder and tear.

Now that work day done 
at long last, not a moment 
to tally date with Jack Daniels to delay
this linkedin the conga line wants to wash away 
sounds of barked orders Rum bling – may
king me insides writhing 
with anger as if type cast 
in diabolical formidable, horrible play
whereby each active scene increases assistance 
for Johnny Walker to glide and sashay.

Argh, how those last remaining minutes to escape 
hubbub tick away at the pace of a snail
to these myopic eyes, which suspect manager 
surreptitiously turns back clock hands male
lush hiss lee deliberately toys with sanity, thus 
seek counsel from Jimmy Beam without fail 
when super tramping head honcho will cease 
cheap trick renouncing cruel act with ale.

Without schmaltz, Hops, skips and jumps 
inebriation welcomes me by rendering taps
receding thoughts of being bound, cramped,  
and emulsified in dark cubicle Schnapps 
as if invisible taut cord tears into virtual tatters 
and this life of Wry lee loosed like flaps
from shredded material trailing a tail that 
rivals tales of Aesop's.

That  ambler liquid of the gods soothes palate 
and tongue helps a  comfortably numb
feeling to settles within thine body electric 
dulling the senses with heavy eyelids plum
met to close shut tight riding the wave of ecstasy, 
reflecting about dad and late mum
though come the morrow, a hangover with 
sensation akin to Gunter Grass 
loud internal tin drum.

Upon rising sober with total amnesia sans 
pandering as a buffoon 
realizing fallacious gimcrackery while ensconced 
in fermented cocoon
an email fried off from the top dog quickly 
reminded yours truly how I did goon
off the rails, perhaps cuz of living within 
a trackless caboose 
August sized wife named June
adept at belting out 
and playing Claire de lune.
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