My First Misdemeanor

After all of these many months of drinking;
And, only about myself, thinking;
I finally spent a night in the drunk tank;
Which will only cost me twenty-five dollars from my bank.
For, intoxication in public is only a misdemeanor;
Before this, my record couldn't be cleaner.
I walked out of the police station in my socks;
But, really, I didn't feel any rocks.
It was dark and I didn't know which direction to go;
It was a situation in which I had to blow;
In the breathalizer before I could leave;
But, I really did not grieve.
For, I sat in the drunk tank writing poetry;
Because a very expressive poet, I be (am).
When I got out, I was disoriented;
That is not a part of me that can be prevented.
So, I knocked on the door to ask again which way to go;
But, no one would answer; I guess they did not know.
So, I just started walking down the dark highway with my thumb out;
That's not what safe walking is all about.
I finally got a nice person to stop;
Who, luckily wasn't a cop.
My man and I got along when I returned;
And, no deep hole in my record was burned.
I was charged with a misdemeanor;
But, it would be nice if my record was cleaner.
It was my first real criminal offense as an adult;
And, I fully admit, it was my fault.
I don't think that Hurricanes and I mix;
Because when I drink them, I get into quite a fix.
I am not a good example in group therapy;
But, a fellow fun alcoholic I knew there disagreed.
Now, we have something in common funny;
And group therapy doesn't cost very much money.
But, now my man and I get along and I have good friends;
I pray that the good times in my life don't end.
I have a tiny pen as a drunk tank souveneir;
Because there was a nice cop who couldn't have been any more of a dear.