And I suffered through a glass of tepid, flat prosecco
(Complimentary so failure to chug was not an option)
Then the glass turned bottle-shaped
And bubbles pierced my lips and throat
And I’m pretty sure my teeth groaned after being sugar-slapped.
After three glasses each (or two?) the bottle was empty
Like an abandoned alcoholic barnyard
Snatched off our table by a server who brought us pizza too late
And our bill too soon.
I’m sitting there swigging fizz and swallowing bubbles
And then I’m quaffing double vodkas
Served in cups which are too small
The spirit explodes in my mouth like a bomb made of fiery gasoline
Meant for cars not people surely
But dancing helps, and I soon forget I’m sipping burning sludge
And it’s onto the next, and then a shot
(Because why not?)
The hangover is awful and obscene and my tongue feels like a bristly rug
That’s been soaked in alcohol and doused in fuel
My brain is fried and my lips are chapped
All this for a boogie?
I can’t tell if it’s worth it or not.