A Haiku Collection, For The Man Who Threw Up Everywhere At The Labor Day Barbecue

Have we met before?
I recall your name was Art
Or Andy, something.

Anyway, you were
In the middle of handle
Number two already.

Funny thing, vodka
Clear liquid but its results
Visibly shock guests.

So, not too stunning
When your spew decorated
Paul's tile bathroom floor.

Or, say, the kitchen
Or stairwell past the kitchen
Or stairwell hallway.

And the compost pile?
Right by the basil garden?
C'est magnifique, sir!

Once you hit the ground
Final bursts began, nearly
Small wheelbarrow volumes.

We were on your side
While you lay splayed on yours, too
Unable to move.

Oh, sure, thrash about
Screech you will rise and kick ass
We ain't buying shit.

Eventually
Alex (Alex?) or Jenny figured
It was best to act

Lest a fetid pool
Consume you; a tawdry death
Jimi minus rock.

About eleven
We left you with some bread and
Vitamin Water.

Perhaps you lay still
Still, innocent jabbering
Coats the summer night.

But most likely, friend
You've regained youthful vigor
In time for Beirut.

-postscript: it was a tad difficult to toast the s'mores over the sound of dry, vicious wretching bereft of fluid or pleasure. Somehow, we managed. S'mores are awesome.