I was strolling down the aisle,
We were shopping there in style,
With my daughter sitting smiling in the cart.
I was stretching out my hand
For the Martinelli's brand,
When the apple of my eye gave me a start.
With the bottle in my grasp,
I saw, coming toward us fast,
A high heeled damsel, scarfed and towing her caddie.
And she smirked as I, condemned,
Stood up to comprehend
The reason, as my child said "Whisky, Daddy? "
There was nothing I could say,
To make it seem another way,
To vanquish the conviction so compelling;
It was the color you could tell,
And the shape she knew so well,
The question that my daughter asked was telling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem