Intoxicated Adam

My fill I drink And simple instructions no longer sink Nor straight succeed to think. I sense mocking winks But judge them innocent blinks, My fifty - year - old face, Mirroring a discarded doll's; My ever staggering pace Molesting sober walls. A sudden exploding interest in love - making, The woman I have touched hatefully quaking. On some table, a dumped, careless meal, To the steward, not a big deal, More worried about my skipped trousers' button Than the unfinished juicy mutton; Plus a passerby I had ignobly got down And before she could at her first frown. A sure roaring scandal to an enemy madam And sure living disgrace to intoxicated Adam Who had had the option of a life calm But still with a bottle on his palm