The weekend frolic troupe has come in.
The bells ring and their heels click:
the Adventist clergyman is about to get sick.

Pour the drink down the sink, let these fishes have a go at their dying wishes.

The weekend frolic troupe readies
to sweat out their usual rancid panic soup.
Dendrite clogged with salty water,
fanged grinning, and a gait that will not falter.

They are on the prowl
for the plumpest provincial fowl.
So hide, my sister
and fight, my brother.
End these sabbatical howls.