by Marcus Bales
Whose house is this? Don’t care, don’t know,
Some institution owns it, though,
And no authority is near
To salt the roads or shovel snow
This last half mile, and we’ve got beer;
So we will party hearty here
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
I give the door a half-assed shake
And kick the frame before I break
A window, reach around, unlock
The door, and hey, come on, let’s shake
This joint! Burn a chair and hock
A loogie! Poetry’s a crock.
Drink up! We’ll make this party rock!
Drink up! We’ll make this party rock!
Not much is known about Marcus Bales except he lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and his poems have not been published in The New Yorker or Poetry.
