Monday, March 24, 2014

poem of the day 03.24.14

hangover sunrise

you lay there in bed
you’re killing some of sunday

it’s your only day off this week
but you can’t help it

the pain in the head is too much
the stomach is doing cartwheels

you’re almost forty, you think

and you’re still pulling this shit
like you’re twenty-two years old

you wonder about your health
feel the heart and check the pulse

fast but that might be because of the stomach

you hope you don’t have to pray
to the porcelain gods this morning
because you have a streak without vomiting

three years

not since madrid and the urinal at the reina sofia museum
after ten straight hours of beer
with ally and oscar and aida and gemma

this is a streak you’d like to keep
but the stomach is churning away
and the head is hurting no matter how you move it

the sun is coming through the window
it hurts your eyes and looks like a hangover too

you think it’s only a matter of time now

and to all of the lost sundays
that you’ve spent this way

you apologize
and wait for your time to shine.

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