My first night out
at a bar with Lucy
and her boyfriend
we discover
I am nota cool drunk.
A few fuzzy navels in, I am
pounding my fist proclaiming,
“Just wait until I turn twenty-one!”
I give a loud “Whooo”
as each drink appears until
Lucy’s boyfriend
takes me by the shoulders
tells me urgently,
“You need to dig yourself.
You are underage.
You are being loud.
People are looking at you.
Just . . . . . Dig Yourself.”
I spend the rest of the night
nodding and repeating
to everyone and no one
“I’m digging myself.
I’m digging myself.”
On the way home
I spew orange puke
neatly into a paper bag, then
laugh hysterically at the gag
of the bag’s missing bottom.
No wonder
Dad loves drinking.