Busted Poem by Neil Stewart McLeod

I was strolling down the aisle,
We were shopping there in style,
With my daughter sitting smiling in the cart.
I was stretching out my hand
For the Martinelli's brand,
When the apple of my eye gave me a start.

With the bottle in my grasp,
I saw, coming toward us fast,
A high heeled damsel, scarfed and towing her caddie.
And she smirked as I, condemned,
Stood up to comprehend
The reason, as my child said "Whisky, Daddy? "

There was nothing I could say,
To make it seem another way,
To vanquish the conviction so compelling;
It was the color you could tell,
And the shape she knew so well,
The question that my daughter asked was telling.