two drinks and out

you can't drink
anymore.
not like you used to.
where once it
sharpened your wit
and the words poured
out like oscar
wilde and dorothy
parker melded
into one, but alas
no more, now
you blather and
bore, with a stain
on your tie.
the white
flag is up, your
zipper down.
you've said
all the wrong things
at all the wrong
times and at this late
hour of eleven
thirty-five
sleep seems
like heaven
after a mere two
glasses of wine.