Bill Thinks He Sees his Doppelgänger

Perhaps I'm just a bad reaction
to a psychotropic mushroom, Dude,
the nurse put in your stage four drip
after which the clock on the wall
decided to melt at midnight,

a good time to talk of our future
in Meredith, now a nervous wreck,
who after failing the rabbit test,
says she's really, really sorry
she ever dated Buzz, that schmuck,

or you're really drunk as a skunk
from the last of two measured fingers
after Shaunessey smuggled in
a fifth of Clontarf Single Malt
you thought might numb your esophagus

or perhaps I Am That I Am
you swore was a bad dream of Moses,
drinks before dinner five p. m.,
ten years ago, September fourth,
Willy-Nilly is here again.