Max stands in the doorway with a bottle
of whiskey. He is drunk and I am
getting there. I follow the leader,
the liter disappears as we play,
as our throats pull fast shots.
He deploys to Iraq
in a few days, the inevitable
soldier’s going. We’re drunk.
We keep drinking. We drink drunk
and the swift world spins ’round
our room as we char up the old
times that corkscrew in our veins—
as campus-kings who fuck around
through midterms, smoke hookah
in the bathrooms, wrestle, knife fight,
drink drunk, follow the leader,
the inevitable bottled at our throats.
He plays soldier in the doorway.
We char up the world that spins ’round
our drunk veins. We deploy whiskey shots
to wash the dizzy grit from our mouths.
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