"Goldfish On The Pavement"

This is my sister poem to T.J.'s "Sprinkles On The Asphalt".

I am very proud of this poem more so because of my mimic of the aforementioned poem.

"Goldfish On The Pavement"

"Not one second less than ten hours ago, this pavement was bare.

It was not covered with tiny, edible goldfish.

How this became can only be explained by the retelling of events, taking place only a few seconds less than ten hours ago.

One hundred-fifty-plus dollars and change were collected and spent that night on...

Whoa! That's a lot of drink to be consumed in only a few short hours.

But consumed they are in too short of a time by a bunch of silly games and pointless competition-ball-in-the-cup-bounce back-house rules-questions-mates-circle-of-death created only to ensure that maximum amounts of liquid was consumed.

Unhindered by such silly thoughts they scream and yell and make memories they won't remember:

Friendships formed and emotions expressed from the depths of their soul,

But in their depths it remains not for long as the one hundred-fifty-plus dollars worth of drink purchased

Is mixed and shot and displayed through the stumbling and the stammering of those who consumed.

Some tried them all but some stuck with one and that one suddenly craved goldfish.

And as one might expect the effects of one hundred-fifty-plus dollars worth of drink to have, the goldfish were carelessly and recklessly flung over the edge of a three-story balcony, down to the pavement below.

The irony of this situation is...that just a few seconds later than ten hours from the flinging of the goldfish ( and the subsequent forgetting of the same),

All the physical proof evident to the world that would indicate tde fun had here last night will be just that:

Goldfish on the pavement.

All the memories made that night, you may inquire to find, but you will find naught but goldfish on the pavement.

The love that one's friend-brother-comfort-salvation extended to him will be far from any form of recollection.

Others cannot describe or begin to imagine the dignity lost by one boy with his head hung low as he adds to the pavements decor with a not so pretty decoration.

Only by the empty bottles, lingering headache and bed-side trash bin will his mind begin the work of reforming the words he said the night before.

Of all the things he has been shown, his actions by his friends, to him made known, no stranger will know and n'er understand.

So if you're seeking here to see what was done last night, then venture elsewhere you must because the only meaningful mess of last night left here,

Are goldfish on the pavement."