Wine bleeds into orange juice into vodka,
tie-dyed the drink,
cool customer wakes up with marker on his face,
does care but carefully does not seem to.
Early years, where no-one states the code,
the parent heat-traced, red, orange, yellow, green, blue,
tie-dyed the drink, barely blue, the handprint on the cradle.
Belly-laughed, the fool.
Guffawing at what we think the rules may have been,
no shaker, no stick, no list.
Wine bleeds into orange juice,
blends into it like piss in the snow.
Headache, stiff neck, sugared throat, hint of a cold.
Bus ride, home.
Nothing to report on Monday,
though the teethmarks on our coffee cups
better than the bitten tongue,
than alluding that the weekend is
what we thought the rules may have been.