The Morning After

the morning after the night before, a poem

 

Poems jingle-clink

like glasses tapped together,

half-full of limber yellow liquor,

distilled sunshine

to illuminate the gullet.

 

Droplets spatter down

the front of your shirt

your rich red laughter

catches them before

they soak in.

 

One, two, three pennies

spinning on the artfully-aged

and polished table.

Heads or tails go spinning

round and down

 

I've got a splitting headache

stop that before I

shatter into a million

shards of ice and

melt into the carpet

 

Outside, the sun persists

in rising, its poisonous brilliance

lancing into me -

Quick, draw the curtains

before I curl and

blacken at the edges.