The walls of the house preserve the smell.
The brothers’ floor reeks strong of beer.
Gallons of ounces made more ill than well,
and the boys will need hours for their heads to clear.
The weekend’s festivities were all too grand:
big game, big party, and one loud band.
They’ll too quickly forget that one drunk girl
who lost her virtue . . . it’s all just a blur.

Lo and behold the bathroom down the hall
contains their one friend who answered the call.
Flushes and flushes and many days ago,
the rim was washed so the spots wouldn’t show.
There’s cleaning to do as the cycle restarts.
The stool once again plays its own priceless part.

* Keats has a famous poem, "Ode on a Grecian Urn," from which this title (nonseriously) derives.