Hungover

H is for

Hungover
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Slowly one eye creaks open
In pain
The second opens in sympathy
Fried egg eyeballs
Piss holes in the virgin snow
The fuzzy brain engages
Prescribing a day of lethargy and vomits
For the mummified body in the bombed out bed
The brain mocks the body cries
Time for the guts to blast and rumble
Fruit loop farts
Heaving and cramping
And shouting for seltzers
But the tight fitting eyes see another face
An ugly reddened sweaty clammy face
Of no apparent gender
Squirming with embarrassment at last night
Was it good?
Was it bad?
Was it legal?
The seconds tick by
Before the face sees itself
In the mirror;