Truth

He sat there,

drinking like a fish,

consuming enough bourbon

to knocked a man out.

He was a happy drunk:

jovial and flirtatious,

at all the wrong times

and with all the wrong people.

It was an act of mourning.

He drank because he'd lost a child,

a grandson.

Lost him to a fit of stupidity,

with a woman who didn't care.

He laughed because he felt like crying,

and drank to forget the truth.

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Notes: My prompt was "Write a poem that begins with a description of an event, telling what appears to be happening. Then give a description of what is really occurring."