Drinking The Dregs

[Lizzie]

Edit 1

I sit and pick the label from
a bottle of Newcastle brown,
drowning seems to be the forecast.
Programmed spots do a lonely robot
an empty floor reveals their dance, -- I'm always in awe of your subtle rhyming: from, brown, drowning; forecast/dance; lonely robot/programmed spots....mmmmmmmmmm. Yummy.  

Table tops awash with slops,
I fold and float a rizzla boat
then sail outside for another smoke.
A wasted alchy brings his fumes too close,
thinks I want to pick a fight
a prison thin roll-up
seems to make things alright. -- moving the "fight sequence" up was a good move. I think you've effectively sliced out much of what wasn't working to make room for the new.

It's happy hour, so I smile and knock back
double Pernod mixed with cider and black,
the red witch trips tongues, turns eyes into slits -- I like the description of what the eyes are doing and using that to let us visualize the emotion. However, the red witch is kinda making me trip my tongue. For some reason, I just can't say that bit without stumbling.
but no one around me gives a shit, -- I always love some casual profanity in poems. It feels so natural here and in sync with the environment.
including me. -- So.....it feels like you just stopped. Is this a way of saying you no longer give a shit about the poem?
I jest, but it does feel incomplete. At least give us some kind of satisfying rhyme at the end!  It's kinda like you got drunk and passed out mid sentence. 

Anyway, I think you did a great job with the revision, and I hope this helps some.

Cheers,

lizziep