an ode to everyone’s favourite doorman:
the sober witness
precise, attentive, passionate,
yet shockingly poor drunk-dar
armed with an endless flow of water bottles
a water bottle and a warning
to the soberest of the bunch
while her friend blacks out
and vomits, ever discreetly
it’s just a bit of drugs
why so offended?
“i don’t even want to give him water!”
but what good are you, what good are any of us
if your water bottles run dry?