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Flamin’ hangover ... I’m told. “Get outside!” 
“Get out of bed!” Hell, I’m old enough to have more sense  
spending half my day behind me shed, 
cursing that lesson never learnt from past experience.

My gut; my poor guts ...
Churning up - if only I had stuck to what I always said.
I now know what goes on inside a volcano before it erupts.
I should have stuck to light; I’d be all right, but no instead ...
“Here, try this wine.” That flamin’ wine!
That curse that hits me like a bomb -
I’d drank half a bottle and I felt fine,
then bang - the nights all over and I’m gone.

My head, my pounding head ...
why didn’t I listen to the promise that I said?
‘Drink slow and easy; always eat - keep myself in control.’
How did I get my wires crossed ending up brain dead?
I’m getting no relief even with the panadol.
I keep thinking back to last night; how my pouring was so nimble.
Now I’m quivering; my mouths so dry - my foreheads tight and puckered.
Yeah last night; I felt like I was drinking from a thimble.
Today it feels more like a bucket.

Crook - gee I feel crook ...
Those unsympathisers at the house – ‘do you want to drink the dregs?
Have something to eat; that’ll get you going.
We’re cooking greasy bacon to have with runny eggs.’
The thought travelled through my mind; I’m ruddy close to throwing.

My ‘Adams Apple’s’ like a yo-yo, up and down I feel it go
as I attempt to drive their comments from my head.
Still, I’m hanging on like grim death; I find it hard to swallow
as the tastes from last night linger with the thoughts of what they said.

Flamin’ hangover. ..
I’m too bloody old to put up with this self-affliction now.
There’s no sign of recovery; my head, my guts - uncertainty and pain.
When I finally do get over this, I’ll make a solemn vow ...
I’m never, ever, ever, ever - going to drink again.
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