The Morning After

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The Morning After

The wretchedness of waking
                     Up on a hard wood floor
And not even a throw blanket
                                          To cover me!

From the kitchen, emerge the sounds
            Of chorizo and eggs
                        Crackling jubilantly in the pan,
     And the flurry of conversation
                            This early in the morning
                    (Or is it afternoon?)
                                    Is blinding
                 To say the least.

How long has everyone been awake?
                  And how long was I asleep? Well
Anyhow, I’m here now in this
                   New chapter of this cataclysm
Scaling that infernal slope once more
                   The slow, but sure progression toward
                   The apex, where my eyes enjoin the light
                                                        And finally adjust.

                                           Recollection proves to be
              Its own struggle. Each of last night’s
     Moments is heaped among
                    The others like compost, withering
    Though I’m sure that somebody
Will be kind enough to provide the deets.
                                Like who made it with whom
      And what embarrassments
                       I managed to inflict upon myself –

I’m sure that it’ll make a grand story
                    Some years from now, after
We’re through fattening ourselves
                            On the milk of youthful hysteria
And we’ve commenced sapping
                       The color from our hair.
                                What a drag!

Until then, just clasp me in your tender
              Paw for once, just long enough
              For me to sleep this one off.

-r. miller

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