This Is Not An Intervention

You, sir, are not a drunk. You are a hurricane.

Your copious wind comes with fumes.

In all the stories I've heard (and drunks love to tell stories)

There is no man more sopping than you.

You, just getting started, word-slurring, knee-walking,

Cry confessions of love in your beer.

When you really get going, you sing over Karaoke

So loud that the front row can't hear.

Edgar Allen Poe was just just a drunk,

and a rabid one at that,

and Hunter S. Thompson was a drunk

Who would start before dropping the hat,

But you are the John Facenda of the three-day bender.

You are the Alpha Lush.

Some people get too drunk to hold their own hair back.

You, sir, stay too drunk to flush.