It came anon, a mid-flight beer—
So glorious, frothy, bold!
My elbow bending, “Cheers!” my word. . .
Don’t suck like Harp when cold.
Jeez! That’s my third, could swill to ten.
A leavened glass is what I drink.
I’m spurred to drunken swillness, hey!
I’ll have one more, I think.

Quick in the frozen sky we came
On silver wings that hurl
Us through air so much faster than boats
Can ply waves with their white curls.
Above the flat and lowly plains
I sit, silent, and make no stink.
Amazing, ’cause I’ve had many rounds;
I’m on my eighth drink, I think.

I’m going now to swig my ninth,
And this one’s extra strong.
I’m not sure if the plane just rolled
Or my own compass gone wrong.
I’d slammed down brandy. . .post-beer shot,
My balance on the blink.
I stand, not steady as a plinth*
And “head” to where’s the sink.

I stumble and realize I’m load-
ed, as onward I go.
I’m walking in a winding way.
And then I stub my toe.
I tumble on a man who glowers,
Then gives my nose a kink.
Because his brow is very low,
I call him “missing link.”

And so then I am hastening on—
Pee and farts I can’t hold.
I am unsteady and I fear
An undies shower of gold.
I pee all over; people curse;
I sop one woman’s mink.
An exit door opens the throng
And flings me in the drink.


*pronounced with long I for rhyming purposes.