Ode to the Adams Morgan Drunkard

On an early December morning,
3:00 am shown on the clock,
I awoke to a drunkard screaming,
his voice much louder than a knock.

A Thursday night in December?
No more than 20 degrees?
What are still those people thinking?
"Oh, it's just a coldish breeze."

I wonder what the occasion?
I wonder the stir?
Is it perhaps an engagement party?
or just a messy blur.

Still, joyously rejoicing
Outside on a winter night,
It can't be a sober person,
that doesn't seem quite right.

I ask the merry revelers,
to perhaps bring it inside,
your hoots and hollers bottled,
in the place where you abide.

I understand the compulsion,
Myself, I have even woo hoo-ed,
But 3:00 am in December,
Sleeping is my only to-do.

In conclusion: All you drunkards, those blurry brown things are buildings with people living in them, please be respectful. Thank you.