Do I get a 1099 for this?

The list, as prophesied, went on:
table salt to melt the ice
sidelong glances at Marilyn
and other acts of desperation.
The bigger they were
the faster they poured the shots
and joined the shiny footprints.

"I thought I told her..."
"It's nothing I haven't seen before,"
and he knocked him on his ass
with the rum, where he belonged.

The farce of introducing people;
it's easier to forget your manners at home
but when you're already...
"Come on, babe. I barely know myself
let alone the two of you...but now you know
each other's first names."
Trail off, drift away.
Enter Frank, stage left.
It's always seemed such a charade.
Spare us, Common Courtesy.

"Fine, then you'll learn on your own like I did,"
before stomping out of the spinning room.

"If my ass goes numb then I know
it's time to quit for the night.
If I feel any physical pain then it's forced."
Scary rules to live by, so similar to a strumpet's
and doesn't that sound like a cake eaten with tea?
"My ass only hurts 'cause I've outgrown this chair
that I've had for fifteen years. The cushion was made
for little kids."
Sure, pal.
Whatever you have to tell yourself.

"It's gotten really good," they'll lie.
"No, no, No, NO,"
vehement "no!
The microphone's just moved closer
for a more accurate recording."

They still won't get it, the unsung song--
a waste, like taking a shit while still wet from a shower.

"I thought she was a strong swimmer."
"Me too."