The Lives of the Saints

If I lived one thousand years
I could not reproduce
The beautiful precise blue
Lettering on the twenty cans
Of beer I have drunk and stumbled
Over and puked on
This one sainted night.
Tonight is St. Night;
I am remembering being happy.
A silver-plated statue of
A bowling ball throwing
A dumb man down a long alley
Littered with elegantly lettered
Beer cans— That is St. Night’s crest.
St. Night’s mother, St. Dawn,
Is going to tell me: You have
Made a pigsty of your bathroom
And your living room and your life . ..
Get up and go to work.
St. Work thinks I’m a joke;
He calls me St. Calligraphy.
St. Saint knows my real name.
St. Beer.