Whiskey After Work

A week away from Ground Hog Day And my water heater’s sore. It spat at my clumsy plumbing, Took a leak on the basement floor. That triggered my elderly sump pump To noisily heave up its guts. My cat on the workbench watched me endure The death of a thousand cuts. I loaded my Remington 12 gauge, Thirteen rounds, counting one in the hole. I returned to my waterlogged basement And said “Darlin’, let’s rock and roll!” I pumped the rack like a madman, Drawing lines between the dots. My neighbor had a heart attack When he counted thirteen shots. Then I ponied up and loosened my grip, Put the Remington down, wiped the sweat from my lip. I find no game in a proctored arena. My demeanor is salty and gruff. And it makes me laugh like a tickled hyena When I’ve proven enough is enough. And I celebrate the damage with an innkeeper’s perk, Appreciating vengeance drinking whiskey after work. P.S., I've got a Weil-McLain on order.