hung over

hung over

there you are, your face moving water
the postman fiddling letters from your fans
and you are depressed again
you are spitting out companions
in a listerine wash you can never hold
for a whole minute
the last of the tequila circling the drain
a plague of bad choices
whistling up the bleach on your
stained teeth
there is the sun girl
beating her fists on the tree tops
there is the earth
flat chested on the beach
over weight in the mountains
carrying a desert on her back
it is saturday, right?
no more jobs available till Monday
no more oysters on the half shell
slipping down your throat without butter
that sea gull on the railing
is definitely dead
as soon as you can open your window

Reviews

[James Paulin]

I remember being hung over when I was much younger and how things are distorted for quite a while but I am getting a broader message from this poem. I feel it applies to how a haze of delusion can be a reality until something opens the window and the dead seagull is recognized. My impression. I enjoyed it.

[Terry Collett]

I was hung over in Paris once; my brother too. bad choices made. The poem is one great write.

[Emily B]

oh, wow!

[Bud]

I must say, your poem has made me feel a little better. I'm not quite as hung over, as this depicts. But it's bad enough. LOL Thank you for sharing this honest account of paying for playing in the spirited oceans... Outstanding.

[Jibey]

Great flow of images to get across the feeling of it all... Great writing!

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

I must say this does go deeper then the effects of alcohol, to me it delves into the effects of everyday life and the toll it can take. Fascinating piece of writing.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Look out Jonathan Livingston! lol What a great piece, good mood setting and surrealistic (like a hangover) :o) one dead seagull later and a broken telephone and the head is still throbbing. Great write!

[Ken Simm.]

This is so much more than just the effects of alcohol. This is the depression that sets in. This is when things pile up beyond our reason. when the daylight overwhelms.

[W.k.kortas]

What is unsaid between the lines is fabulous, not that there is anything wrong with is on them. This is pitch-perfect in tone and construction. This is something that appears to be simple which you have made look simple--and that ain't simple.