The first drink is the best drink.
Smiling eyeballs meet and friendly hands
are warming up a foam potential.
The second drink is the second best drink.
Blue upholstery, tables gored by time:
talk is mostly travel and the weather.
The third drink is the third best drink.
Gulping down a fishy mouth,
twaddle on about the cricket.
The fourth drink is the one we cadge for.
Peripheral, a dizzy cocktail
spangles politics with passion.
The fifth drink slows indulgence.
Deluded space is filled with aliens squawking;
we do our best to bawl them down.
The sixth drink is the one we came for.
Dropping in the glass; thudding on the table,
toilet, stagger, dance and face the music.