Thinning The Herd (Poetry)

Go hide the pills and vodka
for Mama’s got morose
the old black dog’s come calling
she’s copped a scary dose

The doctor won’t be any help
these days he’s not that kind
no time for poor or agéd folk
the sort that’s lost their mind

If we was rich, my honey
we’d see a different show
there’s nothing sure as money
to get attention, so

while we’re stuck on the social
and not a soul that cares
our lives a mere statistic
no music and few chairs

go hide the rope and razor
the horror’s in full swing
since Mama’s hit rock bottom
yet Doc won’t do a thing