Dear sir, I write this note to you
To tell you of my plight.
And at the time of writing.
My situation’s not alright.
My record is black-marked, and you
Can’t come to visit me.
All a result of shiny jewels
And drinking L.I.T.s
Well, two nights ago, I found myself
In quite a jealous state
My girl was stepping out on me
And my heart was filled with hate.
I quickly thought the thing she’d miss
Was not our love, or me.
But she’d weep like nuts if I had left
With all her jewelry!
The trouble was that my nerves
Were far weaker than my plan.
But I felt like I could pull it off
After a drink or two in hand.
So I walked on down to the local bar
And the barkeep turned ‘round to me.
I asked for triple helpings of that drink called
Long Island Iced Tea.
Now I don’t know what’s in this drink
But it tastes like angel’s tears.
So I drank deeply of the mix
And it quelled all my fears.
I walked back home, all brave as hell
To commence with my dumb plan.
I unlocked the safe, ran to the car
With all her jewels in hand.
Now, my problem was the lines
Upon the road were not quite clear.
So as I started driving, I knew
It was a dumb idea.
The cop was not far from my home,
He pulled me over quick.
It wasn’t long ’til I got out
And heard the handcuffs click.
Since the jewels I’d stolen
Were mostly things I’d bought,
I didn’t care all that much about
the chance of getting caught.
But her mother’s diamonds were quite the gems,
And were never my property.
They cost thousands on the market
And they cost five years to me.
So, sir, please excuse my absence
From the workplace for today.
And for the next five years, as I
am sadly locked away.
My girl’s left home, I’m in the clink
With a splitting headache, and
I wish I’d never tasted of
Iced teas from Long Island.
N.B. Turner is a young writer living in Virginia, remembering and trying to honor his roots in Indiana. In between dabbling in poetry and crime fiction, he occasionally drinks Yuengling and single malt scotch while telling dad jokes. You can follow him on Twitter at @NathanTurner15.