Hobnailed

Hobnailed upon the bar hab nab,
likely latter, all nought, sluft
across the tavern floor.

Drunk up to some nother or
other blank, the crock tocks
time ‘til closing.

When again, old Glub roams
about, seeking sad
souls unrefrained.

One last one at a single shot
bedrained and out the
door you went.

Found foolish gall, and in that
nasty habit found your call:
“Git thee to a slummery.”