Spill Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Last night I had a funny dream,
it seemed I'd lost my self-esteem.
Among the bottles in the shop
I stood and heard a noisy pop.
And, to avoid a sudden spillage
(which would turn gossip in our village)
I threw myself down to the floor
and drank champagne, and then some more.

The manager came walking over
accompanied by watchdog Rover.
'What is it that you seek down there, '
he asked, displaying utmost flair.

By now the dog had started licking
the fluids which were quickly sticking
to beautiful Italian tiles
the manager now scratched his piles.

No matter how I tried to reason
my action, he now called it treason,
he said that no one hits the ground
to drink the bubblies that he found.

And that a human can't be free
unless he has his dignity.
I left the shop on rubber legs
picked up a dozen chicken eggs
and once at home made creamy grog
they call it here the Great Eggnog.

Sat in the lounge with wife Louise
and filled her glass, (she is a tease) .
One sip - it went a bit astray!
she coughed and sputtered, I must say.

And jumped around, knocked down the nog
went on her knees, just like a frog
and started sucking off the slate
the stuff, so I did join her, mate.

We didn't waste a dropp at all
and made some more (we had a ball) .
I never scolded her for spilling
we both were keen and rather willing
to lower our noble selves
like busy Christmas season elves
and do what needed to be done
with dignity and lots of fun.

That stupid clown inside the store
he must be silly to his core.
He thinks that I committed treason
and overlooked the real reason,
environmental pride for liquor
it helps the soul and feeds the ticker.