The Hangover of 1985
Like two rusty hinges my eyelids creaked open,
the pale morning light seared my eyes,
the banging I heard was the sound of my heart
and the gurgling, my stomach's hushed cries.
I knew it would prove as I started to move
every motion would be one big mistake
and my brain and my mind (which was lagging behind)
were both wishing I wasn't awake.
Keeping my head quite level, I rose from the bed
balancing with my arms open wide,
to stop what felt like a hot cast iron ball
in my head banging from side to side.
Tongue was dry, throat was thick
and now feeling quite sick,
slowly bent for my slippers, to find
one had hid on its own under a Traffic cone
and the other had kebab inside.
Made it out to the bathroom and slumped by the sink,
the mirror held my other me,
ten rounds with Mike Tyson, face green, and I think
who on earth could that possibly be?
The phone started nagging, my shoulders were sagging,
I stumbled back out of the shower,
my mate asked where I was, since he's down at the pub-
I said I'd be there in an hour.
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