The Inebriated Raccoon at the Liquor Store

Mr Glass Half Empty,  shattered liquor store owner :

‘’Alas I found my shop a wreck last night.

Glass on the floor, the shelves all light.

It gave me an all mighty fright,

To see my liquor store’s sorry plight!


And it aint any hooligan or street gang,

That such destruction brang.

A raccoon came, or so they say,

And drank the bottles clean away!’’


Mr Cop McCop: Attending the crime scene, pen and paper in hand.

‘’You’re sure of that? A raccoon, drunk?

It sounds like talk from men who’ve sunk

Too deep in tales. Yet still, I’ve heard


Of beasts who act beyond the word.

And when in the mood

They leave the wood,

And hit the store

Looking for more!’’


Mr Glass Half Empty: Now tearful

‘’On the security footage

What an absolute outrage 

I saw it all unfold

Yes it was a racoon bold!


He staggered in, he smashed the pane,

Insurance men will count the strain.

And when his thirst had had its fill,

He sought the bathroom, slumped, and still.’’


Mr Cop McCop: Looking serious radioing help

‘’Not for relief, but sleep instead?

A throne of porcelain for his bed.

Strange how the woods can send us guests

Who drink like men, and leave as pests.


Atleast we have caught him at the scene,

It could have become a pattern mean!

I take him back to the woods deep,

And let him complete his drunken sleep.’’


Mr Glass Half Empty: Looking outraged 

‘’I’d call him tragic, if I could,

A woodland soul misunderstood.

But drunk he lay, and drunk he stayed,

A comic mess the night had made.


But he has left my store a right mess,

The kinds of him I just can’t bless.

I hope it takes him forever,

To get over his ill gotten hangover!’’


Poem in dialogue style inspired by that viral raccoon in the news of late.

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c5y2271q20lo



The Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo’s Account

I only whispered: “Let’s sneak in for lemonade,
a citrus sip beneath the neon shade.”
But raccoon’s eyes, mischievous and sly,  
spotted Maharaja Blues whisky nearby.  

He pawed the bottle, amber glow,  
ignored my feathers’ warning show.  
One sip became a drunken spree,  
a raccoon waltz of lunacy.  

I scribbled nonsense in flaming ink,  
recording each stagger, each slurred blink.  
What began as lemonade’s sweet quest  
became a whisky-fueled absurd fest.  

So blame not me, the chronicler bird,
I only suggested lemonade, absurd!  
Yet raccoon’s tale now echoes loud,  
a Nonsense Chronicle for the crowd.  


A recommended read




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