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Drunk Drunk, you said you wanted to be nice To people, that you wanted to be liked By people. You asked whether I had seen You drunk before. (I said that I had not.) You ate, you searched the cupboards for your bottle Of wine. (I guess you'd hidden it somewhere.) I found it while you looked and didn't tell You where it was. It was with some relief That you opened the very cupboard where it was And didn't see it. You gave up the search And rolled a cigarette. (You did it well.) We sat outside, you smoked, you asked was I Your friend, and I said "yes." And then you asked Was I sure, and I said "positive." And then you asked Why I was so sure. You almost seemed Belligerent. (I felt a little fear, Not physical, but fear of disapproval.) You asked what you had ever done for me. You said that I just liked you, I agreed. And then you got the hiccoughs while you smoked, And then you puked. You said that it was gross, And I agreed. We came into the house, You went into your room and shut the door, And now I hear you sleeping. (Only once, You shook my hand – a gesture common to you – And said I was your "best friend," and I wished You'd said it sober.) Just before you puked You said that I would never be your "lover" But we were "friends." (And earlier today When you were half awake, you seemed a child, Gentle, friendly, vulnerable and sad. But yesterday, when you were all yourself, You were cold and adamant and harsh, And you were forceful, adequate and strong, And I felt insignificant and weak. I like you better drunk or half asleep.) It's after midnight, and you are asleep, And I can hear you breathing in your room, And I am sad and don't know what to think Of what I saw and heard. You also said That in the morning, you would write a poem About your being drunk.
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