Every morning the sun rises.
Every night the moon appears,
along with the drunken slur.
The stumble in your step.
The cloudy glaze in your eyes.
The heavy smell of alcohol on your clothes.
The mood swings that pull you side to side.
Flushed, red cheeks.
Screaming voices.
Slapping hands on skin.

I ask that small, feeble question.
*'Are you a drunk?'