After some behavior that was markedly immature and fully in keeping with my character, I promised to immortalize the event in a poem.
A poorly written poem inspired
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s similarly
entitled masterpiece describing a recent
evening’s pastime with a friend
by Julie R. Neidlinger
But of thee it shall be said
We watched from above whilst ducking our head
Nearly an hour that night, unweary–
Watching with incredulous laughs
Making sure to keep inaudible gasps
As the sloppy drunk yelled on, bleary.
First the drawn out breakup thine
The woman finally saying “Fine!”
He hollering after her, she trounced
Across the street, just slightly far
Where she’d parked her oldish car
Upon repeated insult he didst pounce.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped, we were not in full jeers
As he vainly sat on the front stoop
Trying to call any steadfast friend
Who’d drive him elsewhere and bring the end
Of a tragedy that started over dog poop.
A roommate gathered, for this place
was actually the location of both their space;
And many a delightful four-letter word
Was exchanged while the roommate
Tried to lower the voice and placate
The drunkard obsessed with dog turds.
“In that apartment I’ve got s**tloads of chronic
Yelled he who knew of libation of strong tonic.
Some general unintelligible complaints–
the kind exchanged between roommates learning
that saving money often leads to desireth burning
As Sober and Drunk tried on efforts at being makeshift saints.
“I clean up after everyone, I do!”
We leaned in closer, the words taken as the wind didth blew
Vicariously thankful of our own lives boring
Up on the balcony, lording above
These careening disasters below, thereof.
The continued exchange increasingly deploring.
“OK, I know it’s about the dog s**t!”
Sloppy drunk at long last would admit.
“My dog swallowed my dope
and I’m picking up the crap
Not intending to cause such a flap
all because I have this hope.”
Eventually they both went on inside
Sloppy drunk possibly done with his cry,
Sober guy, likely mortified by the volume
of a roommate who, henceforth, had hollered
the location of illegal substances like a dollard,
finished the discussion in an apartment room.
We had patiently waited for authoritative arrival
Our safety in the balcony ensuring our survival
Yet no flashing lights nor sirens doth appeared
And in the end the entire conversation was
Slightly more than Oprah, yet less than a buzz.
In the dark, neither of us cheered.
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