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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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