Poetry Night at La Nueva Babel

By way of an appendage to the last entry, because Matt thinks I misrepresented our conversation a little. I say, poetic license; you say, potahto.
It was not so much, ¨Will you marry me?¨as it was, ¨Should we get married?¨
And the answer was no. For both of us. He reminded me of that as well.
Flare for the dramatic.
Someone should go check on my mom, too, please. Nothing to see here, Mom.
We´re back in Oaxaca now for three days and not ten minutes ago, far away from a nudie beach, we passed a man in the street sleeping pantsless. At 2 pm.
I´m trying to incorporate all of these elements into an appropriately self-effacing, rudimentary Spanish poem for tonight. It´s open mic at the bar down the street. So far I´ve got:

Borracho.
Dos horas de la tarde.
Yo
no
soy.

Thank you, thank you. Buenas noches.