Unlocked Alcohol Cabinet
Take the shot, take it—the party has begun.
Tip one: people will ask you to drink. Say no.
Take the shot, take it—don’t listen. The party
is only getting started! A naked man is drunk
on the couch, his vomit under the foam cushions.
Tip two: this isn’t high school, but a jock
is making out with three shot glasses,
his tongue in each, emptying all of them.
Take the shot, take it—the naked man
asks for your phone number. Tip three:
your number is the amount of fingers
on your hands, but only four digits sprout from each;
he doesn’t catch it—he waves his phone vaguely
in your direction. Put it in. You leave. You’re alone
in the bathroom with eight fingers. Another shirtless man,
this time in tight pants, asks if you want a piercing.
Tip four: you’re not a woman. He’s heating the needle.
Leave the bathroom & go to the bedroom instead;
there is a couple making out in each corner.
You go to the middle of the room,
& waiting for you is a bottle of tattoo ink.
Your mother would hate it; do it—you leave.
Tip five: you can’t go home, the alcohol has settled in.
This party is never going to end.
Insatiable Memory
He wore my jeans, I took his letterman jacket.
It reeked of old beer in my lap. He called me
& I hung up. He knocked on my door,
I didn’t answer. He knocked a second time,
the door broke in. I was sleeping late. I woke up
to an empty doorway. Three of my neighbor’s cats
were in my kitchen. The memory ends there. He retorts,
The cats are still there, how could you forget them?
I bite a mushy apple & ask for the next question.
Do you know where you are? I do: there’s a random man
in my living room & three cats in my kitchen
& everyone is hungry; they want more from me
but this is all I can give. More. I’ll give more.
Yes, I remember more. Take it all from me
& I’ll leave with his jacket. I’ll sew new patches
to remember myself. Take it all, I’ll be here.
