trying to stay sober
in the company of some of the most polished
gentlemen in the city,
after a couple of drinks,
can be tricky.
but a sudden thought sends a bolt
into my head:
does it really matter,
whether i'm sober or not
especially when i'm with
such a lovely gang of lovables in straight jackets
carrying a burden that never is,
especially also mr. pompous-hompous,
the company chief?
and suddenly i melt into the party
and tickle them all
by turns in the ribs
with rowdy jokes and greasy fingers,
for i am alternately eating
using no forks,
and forks and spoons and spoons and forks
get mixed up all the way...
nobody anymore can keep count how many.
we wake up the next morning,
each one at different hours, of course,
may be with a headache or two,
otherwise okay, if you know what i mean...
i in my bed...
well, i must confess,
i'm not too sure about mr. pompous-hompous!
the last i see of him...let me remember...
he stops his car...
at the city square...
under the statue...
emptying his bladder leisurably over its feet...
yes, singing like the dickens, throwing his head up,
into the night air,
the selfsame song of unrequited love
i had sung hugging him at parting time,
to the clapping of hands by the whole gang
of his obsequious subordinates.
he was empying thus at the feet of the universe,
singing my song till hearts should break,
when a police jeep...
came slowly c.l.o.s.i.n.g... in.
and i was cruising along the other side of the road...