whiskey sonnet #730: fer all that ails ya

i keep an army off doctors on staff to tend to any emergency that may arise. sniffling coughing bitching bleeding broken bruise burnt or infected.....we have a cure
i keep an army of soldiers at the ready to respond at moments notice to any perceived slight. whisper glance passing bump shrug smug or just ugly...ready at your command

and in the moments i need to summon these sacred concubines, my hither elixir
the glass hits the wood and both in deep rasp reply
"WHISKEY, you sum bitch, WHISKEY"