The first beer strips you of shyness.
It’s easier to swish around in those denim blues
the world’s become fond of—
Even more so when morals are loose
and the guy ahead looks like an attractive prop
from the brand new Footloose.
Okay, so chug, chug, a-glug
and you’re imitating MJ on the bud.
It’s fantastic being this messed up
After a week spent in a straitjacket
with the city’s most venerated stuck-ups.
On numero tres, Mick Jagger’s groove seems un-cool.
It’s all freestyle now baby in those ridiculous high heels.
You trip over the handsome guy’s diamond studded boots.
But he simply enfolds you if a tad too tight
in his impressive jock arms.
You’re one move short of fetal by the fourth round.
The nice guy asks if he can take you?
It’s not an inconvenience you weighing 123 pounds.
A question mark forms in that ominous pit
and the body feels nauseous—more than upset.
You want to close your mouth, but can’t.
Before you can stop it the avalanche arrives:
blue, green and peach with chunks of matter resized.
And ALL over your gentleman’s expensive footwear besides.