A Scrabbled Life

A zepher moved across the city
A good man's dead and it’s a pity

His wounds aren’t from a gun or knife
But trying to save a worthless life

He worked pro bono on a junky
Who, from the beginning, acted funky

She was a sad qwif; so boozy-woozy
It was his mission to save the floozy

Early on, our hero seemed quite zappy
Just working on potions made him happy

He was losing weight, having grown zaftig
Taking meals at the home of a Hafiz

His patient would whizz in, feeling quaky
“Help me!” she pled, strung out and shaky

She suffered a variety of zymes
He concocted zinc shakes with new enzymes

She’d quaff beakers of the good elixir
He invented in his lab to fix her

Extracted the stuff from the kudzu's hide
Drunk from kylix, a zebeck on its side

Furzy-like, her hair got fuzzy when she drank
She spit on the floor; said his formula stank

He added some qophs to the formula he wrote
Brewed up a batch, poured it down his own throat

She tried to cozey up, acting schizy
“You know you promised that you would fix me”

He was jokey, self conscious and jumpy
His resistance to her made her grumpy

She wondered if her savior was jimpy
so she asked flat out, “Doc, are you whimpy?”

“And if you aren’t, then tell me why not
You won’t get it on; you know that I’m hot”

She pouted, “I’m zincky muzhik to you”
Quick he assured her, “You know that's not true!”

Gently tracing a hamza on her head
He said, “I may be quiet, but I ain’t dead!”

Then he scooped her up in his hungry arms
He went jemmy jammy over her charms

“I have zilch to offer, except this quartz
He pulled the stone out of his jockey shorts

He promised she’d be well in a jiffy
He’d staked his reputation, now iffy

He was running out of quezal by then
His liver zinky from drinking on end

His crazy patient was looking blowzy
Gave up the streets because she was frowzy

Jacky was feeling more queazy each day
But it was she who planned his exequy

It’s that same old sad familiar story
He died alone without love or glory

The hero of our story, jazzy Jack
Was once a good doctor, died as a quack

They had to jimmie the zaxes out of his head
He was jerky and wheezy and then he was dead

Rubbing off the hamzah, “I’m not sorry,” said she
“This zincy muzjik doctor broke his promise to me!”