Dance:
I was with two others outside on the steps, buzzed, dressed in a navy polo, jeans, beard. You came and asked for a drag, which I gave up right away. You had me light it for you. You stood with us.

No, I didn’t cut up anything.

You were staggering around outside the club, mister. Drunk. Alone.

By the time of the fourth or fifth revision the poem is lost. That’s what I want, not what the poem wants.