The Poetry Class that Gets Drunk Together Stays Together

Which is just one good reason not to drink.

So our class today was held at our professor's house. And since I had jury duty, at which I was declared argumentative before being released, and a dentist appointment, in which I was declared in need of a filling before being released, I arrived an hour late. Swung open the door to the apartment that used to be my brother's (weirdly, they live in the same house, just ten years apart), and entered the twilight zone of the Drunken Poet Society, which, somehow, had yet to come to order. Drunken poets everywhere. Drunken poets eating couscous, pasta salad, jicama, and other off-white foods all together. Drunken poets staring at cheese wedges and declaring, "I am in love, I mean simply in love, with strange cheeses." Drunken poets lurching to their feet to read their pieces. Drunken poets slurring words as they read other people's pieces, drunken poets cutting chunks of carrot cake off with their arms, stuffing it in their mouth, then looking like forlorn chipmunks as they vaguely recall they hate carrot cake, drunken poets getting lost in a two bedroom flat, drunken poets declaring, "It's not because I am drunk, I swear," as they drunkenly read the part of a drunken bar goer in someone's dialogue poem. How delightful. Luckily, for all their boasting, these people are lightweights, and class, starting 1.5 hours late, ends 1 hour early. Nice. We should do this every week.