saturday night
you are at a party
and everyone is drinking hard
there is no poetry
but you are thinking of bukowski
and cherubs behind couches
you are thinking about charles
and watching
as a man crawls across the floor
he is crawling because
he can no longer walk
you want to say something
but to who
you want to do something
but what
you cannot undo this man's inebriation
anymore than you can turn back time
no one else is much bothered
and eventually
the drunken man
makes it to the table
where he demands more beer
you are still thinking about bukowski
and all his great drinking poems
all of the women and all of the songs
none of it
looking much like a good life
as our drunk
falls through his chair to the floor
we are saved the poor grace
of puking
only because he's passed out
someone carries him to another room
we all examine our bottles
as though there were answers
as though they were true
Copyright © michael dennis
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