Boys and girls come out to play
suffused with fruity Chardonnay.
Miniskirted girls fall down,
spew up their innards, paint the town
while boys throw punches, hit the floor,
drink ten pints and wretch for more.
They’re probably too drunk to hear
time’s winged chariot hurrying near.
Ooooh… The nursery rhyme feel makes the poem’s message almost savage. Good one!