To whom do we owe the pleasure
of your enchanting spewing
Around which many gather themselves,
a crowd to applaud your short comings,
and possibly a cheer or two.
Perhaps it was your chivalrous knight
in shining premium hair-care product
who lead you to
He bought your ticket to notoriety
in the sensuous shape of
a cold and frothy glass.
Hail Mary, full of grace--
I assure you yet there are better things to come:
She who will awaken beside this man the next morning
She who will measure herself against his failures
She who is much too tall to be in love
Yes, better things than that, for sure
But for now, revel in your infamy
For you have accomplished something
Too few people can
You’ve brought joy among a shaken
Restless, ugly, American crowd
For a night.