POETRY: House Guest

I say where is my whiskey and

you say if it was up your

ass you’d know it and I say

were at least in my head trying

to avoid being 100% asshole even though

my 50% asshole minimum is usually 2000%

too much for you and so instead

I pretend to laugh and look for

my aforementioned whiskey which apparently I left

in the kitchen by the sink while

I was refilling the ice cube tray

which lay empty on the counter next

to the open loaf of bread and

yes there’s the dirty knife damn it I love you.