Reflection on the D.T. s

Here's a poem I wrote for fun some years ago about the delirium tremours which I thought that I might post to go along with the Single Malt third of my blog trichotomy - even though in my experience the whiskey sippers - good bourbons, single malts, and such - seldom subject their self to over indulgence.

reflection on the d.t.’s

It isn’t their paws or their awesome claws

as they roll in there insolent ease.

that stands up my hair in a wild drunken scare

and slowly buckles my knees –

It’s the size of their yawn as they swallow my lawn

and half of my dogwood trees.

Though the smell of their breath is as fetid as death

exhaled in hurricane groans

it’s the metronome flail of their godawful tail

that chills me clear to my bones.

While the ichor that runs from the sores on their tongues

to fall hissing in pools at their feet

doesn’t bother me half as that olfactory draft

that issues in gusts from their seat.

To see lunch half digested in their teeth half arrested

writhing and screaming in pain

Gives me the tremors and shakes of anticipated aches

and I vow never to touch whiskey again!

In delirium I cry when a claw spears my eye,

“Oh my God!” and burst into tears.

Never again, I repent as I’m thrust in its’ vent

while it viciously rips at my ears.

Never again! Never Again! will I drunkenly sin

I plead as the delirium tremors hit me.

But my wild drunken half just gives a wild drunken laugh

as he downs some of the Hair-of-the-Dog that bit me.

69

well it took a while but it was a bit of fun

-writing it i mean

(and no I’ve never had them)

© smck