Morning After

VAUGHAN HAY

Find meself down on the floor

Ravaged by the night before

Throbbing ache shoots through me head

Reminding me that I’m not dead

All me wits it takes me just to keep from falling flat

Chairs upturned

Windows smashed

I’ve puked up on the cat

Grog’s still in me system

Air feels thick as soup

Bottles strewn all o’er the place

Glass shards crunch underfoot

Try to wake myself right up

Drink something not so heady

But as my eyes drift to the clock

Its nine o-clock already

No time to think, no time to drink

I stumble out the door

Car parked at a jaunty angle

Clothed in dents galore

Keys thrust in ignition

Engine starts with a guttering laugh

I worry for a dizzy spell

Will I get sliced in half?

But what the hell

I’m late enough

And fear drowns reason out

If I miss another day I’ll be sacked, no doubt

Right and left and right again, a maze of asphalt streets

Driving proves a challenge when you’re trying not to sleep

Turn the final corner to find the way ahead

Clogged by many iron beasts with tail-lights fiery red

Rage cuts through the boozy haze

The law can go hell!

Cut into the right lane

Ignore the screams and yells

Charge against the traffic

Swerve and twist and dive

I’ll make good time to work today

(As long as I survive)

Cars speed left and right of me

Screaming spears of death

Half a dozen too close calls

Threaten to steal my breath

But I’m almost there, the end’s in sight

I’ve nearly made the haul

I’ll keep my job and life and limb

Were it not now for the wall

Hood crumples like paper

Glass shards fly like rain

Dashboard shatters, steel bends

Tires burst and engine flames

Yet nothing comes, I’m still intact

I let out a weary sigh

My smoking wreck is perfectly parked

Between the two white lines

I stagger haggard down the street

My body wracked with mirth

The fact that I survived somehow

Is the funniest thing on Earth

I march into the office block drunk on life (and wine)

Sink down in my cubicle, somehow I’m right on time

Ignoring colleagues’ sneers and glares, they do that every day

They can’t know that I’m above my usual point-oh-eight

My drunken haze begins to lift as the end of my shift draws near. The shaking stops, the headache’s gone, my vision fully clears. As the clock hits five exact, I let out a sigh of relief. I start to make the long walk home, and I can finally breathe. My mind’s at last unclouded, the air smells sweet and fresh. Those accursed rhythmic, throbbing kinds of thoughts have left my head.

But the break is brief, the yearning sets in

The pattern reasserts

I think, as I pass the liquor shop

Just a drop can’t hurt?

VAUGHAN HAY

Float

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