Whiskey Goggles

By Roderick Vydrina

She sat at the bar, blonde and frisky.

She was a four, no conquest of mine.

But I looked again after three shots of whiskey

And suddenly she was a nine.

I stared in amazement. Was it magic?

I decided it mattered not.

To pass up this chance would be downright tragic

For the whiskey had made her so hot.

I sauntered on over. Or maybe I tumbled?

I sat beside her and gave her a wink.

I tried to flatter, but my silver tongue stumbled.

So instead, I bought her a drink.

Her barking laugh, like a hungry seal

Now sounded like music to me.

The hair on her lip was a joy to feel.

It just took three shots of whiskey to see.

I paid for a room and led her upstairs.

I tossed her down onto the bed.

She had meaty paws, as big as a bear's

And a sweaty, melon-sized head.

I awoke the next day beside that foul-looking swine.

How could I do it? The mind, it boggles!

I slapped my forehead; the blame was mine

For I'd put on my whiskey goggles!