BEASTLY TALES

PHILANTHROPIST

There they were, sitting, loafing,
Feeling poorly, where’s the Ibuprofen?
“Yes, I’ll pop a pill, or three,”
“Help me up, figuratively.”
So he did stand, stretch his knee,
Perhaps, tonight, a drinking spree?

“But, that’s why you were poorly today,”
“From excess drinking, you should stay.”
“Seize the moment, seize the day,”
“Carpe Diem, hip, hip, hooray!”

The very next day, feeling poorly, feeling slaggy,
Sitting in the gutter, in trousers baggy.
Puffy, lined face, looking craggy.
“There you go again,” a voice above did say,”
“For last night’s excesses, you must pay.”
“So there you are sitting, loafing.”
“Your mind set upon Ibuprofen.”
“Ibuprofen, to ease the pain,”
“Whereas, if you did, just refrain,”
“From being a weak, lilly-livered twit,”
“And from self-destructive behaviour quit!”

Gavin Stooge, for that was his name,
Felt that, in truth, he was not to blame.
“I just went out, for a snort, or two.”
“To help those, who, for a living, brew.”
“I am a philanthropic man,”
“Willing to support an artisan,”
“A Master Brewer, to be explicit,”
“Who produces Ale so truly exquisite.”
“When I awoke, realisation dawned on me,”
“That, perhaps, my brew should have been tea,”
“My problem is that I’m such a generous man,”
“Just thinking of that overworked artisan,”
“There was no question, in my brain,”
“As to whether I should refrain.”
“So I ordered Ale in jugs, three or four,”
“With just one glass, in which to pour!”