I am prepping for the impending shin-dig.
So if, in the wee hours of Sunday morning, you see a blonde girl in a ditch
clutching an empty bottle of rye
lying on an empty 2-4 box
and a boy beside her
mumbling incoherently about a bus that never showed up
and wondering where his shoes went,
steer us in the direction of home.
Or kidnap us and take us somewhere wonderful.
Thanks in advance.
Happy birthday, boy! Love you largely,
and in sobriety.