Valve Job

Another moral tale: The Valves of Meth.

He was twenty nine
When he ruined his valve
And had it fixed in our garage,
Now eighteen months later
He did it again
With another
Drug fueled barrage.

He came back to the same old Surgeon
Who offered a second dance,
Declaring, you stupid young punk
After this, you get no third chance,
He is polite and innocent looking
Appearing younger than stated age,
But the drugs
Have ravaged his organs,
He is now at the 99th page.

Clearly, his Mom
Wants the best for her punk,
She thinks he is retrievable
Although he's strung out on junk,
She drove him from one hospital
And brought him to us,
We're the best Cardiac
Says the sign on the bus.

A sad, sorry story
Of a Methamphetamine user,
A slow kind of suicide
For the drug abuser,
Ingesting powerful stuff
Unknown ingredients, the issue,
Whatever strange concoction        
Wrecks your organs and tissue.

What is the likelihood
That he will get clean?
Stop snorting dirt
If you know what I mean,
The odds are not favorable
But we'll repair him just the same,
We taxpayers got it covered
Because billing is the game.