deepundergroundpoetry.com

Happy Hour

 
They call it happy hour
Shots are cheaper
Cocktails slashed
Buy one beer
Get one free
Drink more an hour
Than most would
Drink in a week

They call it happy hour
Poisoning their bodies
Having too much blood
In their alcohol system
Loud and leery
On edge critically
Ready to fight
Anyone and everyone

They call it happy hour
The bar owner
Is certainly happy
Prefers profits to prophets
Just like a drug pusher
Creating alcoholics
Fills the tills
With casualty cash

They call it happy hour
But happiness dies
In a confused mind
Where right becomes wrong
And wrong becomes right
Alcohol stained morality
Insanely volatile
Sober victims created

They call it happy hour
The drunk staggers home
Steeped in sickness
Wives beaten
Children beaten
Pet dogs beaten
Happy hour creates
Fearful hours

They call it happy hour
Then violence is fine
Rape is doable
Enslavement is for all
Drunks slaves of alcohol
Partners and children
Slaves of drunks
The screaming never stops
Happy hour it’s not
Written by David_Macleod (14397816)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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