Some Bitch Pours A Beer Over My Head

a new poem

Some Bitch Pours A Beer Over My Head

at Funny Bar
and I’m like, “are you serious”
(not even anyone famous) 
and you know how 
I love to name drop
I love a little drama
a little fizz on a Friday night
as I meet Sammy 
at a wine bar
on the Upper West
where I live now (Jesus Christ)
and do my mom yoga
and write my little bullshit,
and after three wines
I’m convinced to go downtown
(that’s all it takes!)
and who cares really,
better to drink like a dumb rich mom
than have it be 
the audience of my poems.
“No girl, I would kill myself 
if my book was on Oprah’s book club,”
I tell Sammy in the Uber,
“but it sells,” he says,
“but it sucks,” I say,
and we both agree 
and talk about Lana’s new song “57.5”
which is the number of followers
(in millions) she has on Spotify.
“All fags,” I say
“even her girl fans,” 
which is the best audience
let’s be serious!
And since there’s only 
riff raff at Clando 
and it’s exactly 11:55 on a Friday,
Sammy’s like, “Funny Bar”
“yeah okay,” I say and talk 
to a Virgo at the bar.
“I missed you,” she says,
“say it back,” and I don’t.
Because I’m honest, baby.
I’m a Sagittarius.
I’m a poet. 
What’s the use
of not telling the truth?
I still don’t do anything for politics.
I still suck dick.
I still laugh the entire ride home
after this bitch pours a beer over my head
(and ATTIRE) on purpose 
(which has actually
never happened to me).
And who cares because 
I’m leaving for London tomorrow.
I’m going back to Paris
even though it fucked me last summer.
And when I get home to New York
I hope no one pulls 
any of this funny business
over at Funny Bar.
Grow up!
You can’t afford my dry cleaning, sweetie.
And you know what—neither can I!

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