Days of Delirium

You drink me into a possession.
I play with words like ping-pong balls
and try to ignore you.
Alcohol magnifies your self-
importance, it speaks from a drain
someone forgot  to plug.
The waiter satisfies your need
for attention.  I imagine being
a tree.  Light slips into a coma
and I say that I'm past caring.
"The scar on my head still aches,"
you retaliate. But we both know
mine suffers from your fist’s
connection; that you drink
to blur the memory. 
Evening air reaches
up my nostrils, touching
fine hairs like a feather.
You wrap yourself in brandy-
coloured ribbons and pass me a look
that deepens my understanding of futility.