Seventeen

A coworker mentioned

getting drunk, and I went

back to Marcus's place,

seventeen, my face

flushed from cheap beer,

the room spinning clear

away from me. My friend's

laugh was blurred at the ends

of things. The walls were thick

with smoke. I felt sick

but kept drinking. The room

had no room

for standing. I sat down.

The night came, the town

spun. My body wept

into the couch. I slept

there. I'm still there.