It's thirsty work this poetry
and I forgot to ask
if it was ok to take a nip
from my trusty old hip-flask
I couldn't wait for the interval
I was parched, dry as a bone
Dylan Thomas lives in me
and makes me drink alone
I'm sorry that I caused a fuss
and my drinking was not condoned
I see it was poems that they meant
when they said bring your own
Joan Etoile
