Low Bridge…

When younger I did drink,

I did so without allowing myself to think,

To remember the time before, so sick I could barely blink,

And the unusual stink, that came out of that sink, after worshipping it like a god…

I do remember a time; I was drunk from too many-mixed maitai’s,

Stayed at friends house I did, after the party too late, could not find my keys,

Good friends they were, but they failed to warn me of the low bridge in the bedroom,

In the middle of the night, with the room all a swirl, I found myself desirous of a bathroom,

I flew out of bed, heading for that room, just down the hall, but had to negotiate the door,

It was the right size for a kid, a special size, short for me, right for he…

I impacted with my head on the door-sill above, on top of my sickness I had me a bump,

The size of Rhode Island it was, I could barely see, should have puked right there,

But I have more respect even when drunk, to puke on the floor,

As I would have to clean it up, yuch…

So now I just get high, no longer do I drink; except for soda, milk & water, they are okay,

Sometimes too much of each, food now being my downfall, eating my fill and then some,

When the munchies do strike me down and force me to eat, but sick I don’t get,

So happy that makes me, depending of course on what it is I do eat, sometimes not so neat…

              © ed – 3/28-04