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Single Malt Whiskey (poem)

By Woody Powell

Single malt whiskey
splashed in a glass
two chickens in the oven
roasting off their ass
seven vets a-whining
don't know what to do
about the awful state the world's in
no one's got a clue.

But Jesus Christ Almighty
we're having so much fun
wallowing in all this shit
that when we're finally done
the only thing we can conclude
is that friendship trumps disaster;
so we'll treasure that forever
and fuck those other bastards.

Bob
Peter
Charley
Sandy
Hari
John
Woody

—Woody Powell