Alan .S. Jeeves

The Mourning After The Morning After

The day came slowly as I peered out from behind my eyes,
There was no noise, only nonsense.
The sunrise had chosen not to wait for me.

He was needless of my acquaintance as he clambered over the hill ~
As the day was yet still.

A forlorn bottle lay reposing on the floor beside me for company,
His once golden torso now appeared transparent and vacant.
He cast his wide-open eye over me curiously.

I wondered what he wondered, what he thought ~
I expect it was nought.

Far away in the kitchen the coffee pot murmured and babbled,
His familiar fragrance filling the morning air
As I thought of the blackness that he embodied

I recalled the blackness of the night before ~
As I lay on the floor.

Suddenly a feminine voice cried \"Coffee?\",
Her unfamiliar fragrance filling the morning air.
Where the hell did she come from?

Oh well!
Time will tell.

I cautiously attempted to stand,
Stumbling across to the table in the next room.
I resolved never to partake of such a thing again.

This morning of abject sorrow ~
At least not until tomorrow.