Gin in My Coffee

by Joseph Goosey

It was all my fault that the barbecue spilled so liberally.
It was so fucking hot in the summer of 2005 that I could not see straight.
You know, what I thought was an art museum was only a mandolin
and what I perceived to be intellectualism was only a water bong.
The longest I have ever danced was a time when there was gin in my coffee.
My twin bed smelled of polar bears and bleach and now none of my
relatives can be found.