Hair of the Dog

Splitting headache, bloodshot eyes
In my best outfit
The speakers loudly blaring
The MC working the crowd.
They all want us to yell ‘Yeah!’
And put our hands up in the air
In total surrender to the music.
Belting out the songs,
And us, singing along -
Trying to outdance each other
In our carefully pressed clothes
So clean and so respectable;
With wrinkled skin and rancid breath
And trembling fingers.

"Look at that girl -
What is she wearing?
I swear, it looks like
Her grandmother’s hand-me-downs!
And those dudes, just look at them!
They’re so broke and phony -
They can’t even afford to look at me
If they come over here, not a word
Breath is wasted on such
You saw them at Bacchus last night?
Losers.
And what’s this song that’s playing?
Sooo shady…why do we even come here?"

As we line up for our shots,
Most of us are thinking
“That was the last time,
I swear I’m quitting drinking!”
Maybe after I take this one
The Hair of the Dog
Maybe it’ll wash away last night’s memories
Wipe my conscience clean
And some bread to go with it…

Finally the throbbing heads
Can catch some much-needed sleep;
If only this guy would lower his voice
Just a tad bit…
Red eyes catch their forty winks
Till they’re nudged back awake
With many a murmured protest -
The offering bag has come around.