On Drinking: A Poetic Personal Essay

And this is why I don’t drink very often

And I don’t mean “having a drink”

Sitting back and slowly sipping a pint

Enjoying its flavour and appreciating its composition

I’m talking about seriously drinking

Like how Fitzgerald drank in the ’40s

When he was writing shit, fucking, and living behind the Roxy in LA

Or like how Hemingway would have drank

After he shot and tagged himself a lion

I’m talking about seriously drinking

Because drinking always leads to bad things

Drinking leads to being social, which wouldn’t be so bad

If I didn’t have the social skills of the Creature of the Black Lagoon

Or a sober Kevin Smith

I ramble, and I think I’m funny

And I mistake looks of distaste for looks of “oh, he’s charming”

Drinking leads to stumbling

I don’t have good coordination to begin with

And no one should have to deal with a fat man falling

And no one will help me to walk back home

Drinking leads to random wandering

And finding things that I’m convinced I’m allowed to throw

The booze I’ve consumed gives me permission to throw the things I find

And I think I can throw them far

And I try my best not to hit passing cars

And no officer the guy who threw that stuff ran that way

But it’s cool, I know the people who live here

But I didn’t realize it was a parking lot

I must have the wrong address

Drinking leads to drinking games

Friends give me definitions and if I can’t guess the word I have to take a drink

Or we put on horror movies

And if there’s bad acting we have to take a drink

And if there’s T & A we have to take a drink

And if someone dies we have to take a drink

And if something happens completely out of the blue

Like in the 1980 movie Pieces, there’s a random Kung Fu scene

No rhyme or reason, just random Kung Fu

Well then…

You finish the drink in your hand

And you finish the liquor in the cabinet

And you finish the beer in the fridge

And you take a walk to the liquor store

And finish off whatever you buy

And then the next morning I wake up

I wonder where my keys are

I wonder where my car is parked

I wonder how I wound up covered in cat hair

I wonder whose couch it is I’m sleeping on

And what time it is, and why everything’s spinning

And if I’m still drunk or if I should have another drink

And why the fuck is that sun so bright

And won’t someone turn down that furnace

And will that squirrel stop its chirping

And why does a Big Mac sound so appetizing

And why is there a Denny’s receipt in my pocket

But it does explain the syrup in my hair and the fries in my pocket

And this is why when I drink

I try to just sit back and enjoy the one drink that I have

I want to take it slow, I want to enjoy the art that went into it

And when I drink like it’s New Year’s Eve in a Frat house

I wake up with my eyes swollen because I forgot that I’m allergic to cats

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One thought on “On Drinking: A Poetic Personal Essay

  1. Stephen Novik says:

    I Still Love this funny, funny poem!

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