No Fun at All

It was an oath and I didn’t want to breach it.

I had promised I wouldn’t share the flask.

But they could tell by my look I kept a secret.

Why wait to hear the question somebody would ask?

So instead of putting my name on it,

I handed it to a kid I met on the street.

He looked it over, cried out, “Why not, doggonit?”

shook my hand, turned around, took to his feet.

I’m sure he discovered it wasn’t so easy,

for he was back before sunset. “Sir, I’m appalled.

This thing you gave me just made me queasy.”

So it’s down in my cellar now, once and for all,

an elixir to maintain at the highest cost,

that I’d hoped would make up for what was lost.

But as the punk said himself, “It’s no fun at all!”

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