this poem is not about alcohol

one is not enough tonight

not one dark ale
to read schleiermaker
not one white russian
at froggy bottoms
before going next door
for pizza

even one and the bathroom spins

dazed and not drunk
glazed and not tactile
going down in my own blaze

one drip, two drips
from the shower behind me
the ugly yellow curtains
the smell of
herbal essences,
peppermint,
and plastic

the place: strategic,
where soft skin
can hide in the gray,
in the dark
inside and secret

a monk brewing beer
in a vat,
brown-gowned and conscious
of the hood that hangs around his back,
in his quiet shoes

one is not enough tonight,
not alcohol
not kisses of peace
not cold washcloths on hot foreheads

doublemint anxiety
and an attempt at sleep
like a sport
best played when drunk.