Rehab? ? ? ? Poem by Gordon D Wilkinson

I jumped into a cab
On my way to rehab
Going to dry right out
No more whisky, beer or stout

Held in a little room
Nothing inside
Not even a broom
No where to hide

The counsellor comes in
Wipes the dribble from my chin
Lay back and relax
While I read, your doctors fax

It seem you drink until you’re blotto
Getting drunk is your motto
You drink a gallon of whisky each day
Spend more than your weekly pay

Don’t worry we can help you here
Getting you off the whisky and beer
Oh, do not sit and pout
We will get rid too, of the stout

Just sign these papers here
Really, you have nothing to fear
Just along the dotted line
Don’t worry you will be fine

One thing I want to know
What made you drink so?
Was it a bad time at work?
The argument you had with that jerk?

I will tell you now, about your boss
He said sacking you is no great loss
They let him out of hospital today
When he sues you, you are going to pay

Let’s put this needle in your arm
Then it is off to the funny farm
There you can rant and rave
For the drink that you crave

You will only be there a month or two
Falling apart as you unglue
We will put you back together again
There will be a lot of pain

Hey, do not go ballistic in here
Sign these papers, have a beer
It is only your money, which we want now
Do not go mad and throw a cow

Come back it you want to try again
The cab will take you to the train
I am sorry we could help you out
Here take this, your bottled stout

After such a close call
Time to have a ball
Do you fancy a drink down at the pub?
It’s your round that the rub