icarus lays in his bed now,
an advanced placement scholar with distinction, high honors,
(his name embossed in pearly white letters on posterboard like a movie star)
drunker than he's ever been,
waiting to pass out under the gentle caress of the full moon.

who would have thought
the boy destined to scrape the sky on golden wings
would be passed out on his bedspread like a delinquent?
(it's the quiet ones you gotta watch out for,
the ones who retreat to their silent cave to descend into a fuzz of various intoxications.)
meanwhile, the dean of admissions preaches abstinence
from liquor, grass, and hazy nights.
after all, the true, distinguished, scholarly scholars
would never partake in such acts.

icarus dry heaves into his pillow,
knowing he'll regret going into his advanced calculus test
with the mother of all hangovers.