I woke up and felt guilty again. Memories of the night before creeping back to me, ashamed of themselves. They crept back very slowly, one at a time. I went out drinking with some friends after work. It all started innocently enough, with nice cold beer. But then I burst through the whiskey window, with cape on, bullhorn in throat, ready for action… demanding it.
I don't know why I ever choose to drink whiskey after beer. It always seems like a good idea, a wonderful launching point for great possibilities. It rarely ends up that way.
So few poems are written in that state, by me.