The Idea-smithy

She picks a gob of mud and aims carefully
Splatch! It spatters down his clean (too clean she thinks) face
Then she sits back to sip her drink
But it makes her choke
Arsenic!
…she thinks in panic
And so the loquacious one is silenced
But it wasn’t fair play!!
Are her final unspoken words

Hungover on reality….
Or high on illusion?
Life is nothing more than a visit to the bar!
What’s your poison tonight, sir?
How about a cocktail of the two?
Coming up …. one average human being on the rocks.
No, hold the ice, give it to me neat..
Impossible, the ice keeps it from exploding!