hosho mccreesh | six drunk poems


Showing up,
and your goddamned friends
are already drunk,
so to catch up
you chug
the last third of
a bottle of Evan Williams
as your buddies say,
“Hey, motherfucker!”
and try to sock you
in the gut.


Finally some girl is
drunk enough
to buy your buddy’s
‘we’re doctors’ horseshit,
and when she says
“So what kind of
doctors are you?,”
your buddy turns to you
and says “yeah,
what kind of doctors
are we?”
then he tries to
show her his
‘doctor watch.’


A bouncer, incensed, says
“What? You don’t think I can
drag your ass outta here?”
and with a simple,
knowing smile
you say,
I don’t.”


Drinking TNTs
out of a

getting up to
finally take a piss
you stumble.

What the fuck?
you think,
I only had
three drinks…


Cut off from
three places
in a row,
the afternoon
going sideways on you,
So your buddy
puts out a desperate call
and a beautiful girl
neither of you have seen
in sixteen years
comes for you both,
the peach.

So you take her
to a strip club
and buy her
lots of lap
and you all drink,
and you all laugh,
and you all
feel human

for a little


a box of wine
from the adult’s
hotel room,
your entire team
taking turns
guzzling from it
while standing
in the shower.

And later,
On the phone
three girls on a
volleyball team from
Tombstone, Arizona
to stand out
on their balconies
and show you
their tits.

“Now your turn,
your turn!”
they giggle
in the phone,
so you and
two teammates
go wag a little,
and they coo with
a pure, delicious joy,
and rank yours
an eight
out of

The full length manuscript is IN THE WORKS with Ryan Bradley’s Artistically Declined Press.

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