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Poem: 100 Proof - She's No Spring Chicken

I am a writer. My passion is poetry. I feel words connect people together and help us to understand the feelings we share.

Poem Summary

"100 Proof - She's No Spring Chicken" is a poem for the word prompt Proof.

She drinks some 100 Proof Tennessee Whiskey and gets stopped by the law on the drive home.

She steps out of the car with her license and registration, but this makes the officer mad.

She has to go to the station, but gets a ride home.

"The Whiskey Song (Scottish Drinking Music Video) by John Patterson"

Poem for Word Prompt - Proof

This is my attempt for the word prompt, "Proof."

I wanted to put something out there, but I'm not certain it is up to par. In any case, here it is.

I hope you enjoy reading it. If nothing else, I had a bit of fun writing it.

This poem does not endorse Drinking Alcohol.


100 Proof - She's No Spring Chicken

She tosses back some 100 Proof Tennessee whiskey,

thinking she is a spring chicken like in her younger days,

but by nightfall she finds herself in handcuffs

giving an officer her name.

She’d just left the club

when the swirl of red & blue lights

catch her by surprise,

pulling her car “the silver bullet” off the road.

She doesn’t think twice

as she opens the door

and steps out with her license and registration in hand

but apparently it makes the officer mad.

She hears a gruff voice yell, “I didn’t tell you to get out of the car!

As he approaches with his gun drawn, nervously patting her down,

grabbing the papers from her hand yelling, “I’ll need proof of insurance too or your car gets towed.”

With her fingers trembling,

she climbs back into the car,

hysterically searching through the glovebox

to no avail.

Then she hears him say,

“Ma'am, walk a straight line, heel to toe,

let’s see if you need to go to jail as well.”

In a quivering voice she utters,

“Sir, I can’t. I fail this all the time at the doctor’s office.

You see, “Bubbaboo”, a tumor that lives in my brain

makes me walk like a drunken sailor

on a normal day."

He laughs,

“I’ve heard it all now,

but there’s no get out of jail free card here

so, start walking."

He watches as she staggers a bit,

stumbling with irregular footsteps

leaning forward to catch her balance,

then he grabs her arm escorting her to the cruiser.

When they get to the station

he begins taking her finger prints

when the sergeant walks and says,

“How’s Bubbaboo treating you gal?”

“Pretty good, but I guess he doesn’t like alcohol.” she replies.

“Well, none of us are as young as we used to be.

Come on, let me drive you home,” he says.

In disbelief, the police officer mutters,

“I thought she was pulling my leg.”

Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life

— George Bernard Shaw


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