To driving! Myrtle took a swig from her wine glass
Perhaps it would be too crass
To say she fell upon her ass
Fallen off the stool
From her lips a line of drool
Unsteadily she searched for the tool
The keys were in another hand
Foggily she tried to understand
Angrily she began to demand!
We all stood in solidarity
Against the sloven possibility
Of her driven debility
This cannot be
It was only, only a glass of wine, you see?
I can’t be drunk on grape juice, she plead
But the alcohol content was indeed, eleven point six
After work she had her fix
But driving and wine just don’t mix.