What I Did Drunk

By Richard Bower

Took you—a townie—back to my room; agreed to tell no one.

Danced with you down Main Street, stopping traffic with pliés and laughter.

Tweeted stupid movie quotes while you read me Dante’s Inferno.

Shared lo mein from the box with unwashed fingers.

Ditched skating date for bar buddies.

Streaked quad wearing your pink wool socks.

Promised I’d meet your parents over holiday break and followed through.

Sledded together on cafeteria trays, leaving broken plastic shards at the bottom of the hill.

Paused to observe your face; wished I wasn’t drunk.

Learned to hate your cute, bottle-cap nose and myself.