The Mourning After the Night Before
“Knock, knock” “Who’s there?” I haven’t a clue
What day is it? Who’s at my door?
“Here is some breakfast I made just for you”
Says some stranger who slept on my floor
The sight of the eggs and the bacon and tea
Turns my stomach inside upside down
Migraine’s the price that I’ve paid for the glee
Of a banging night out on the town
“‘Ere, it’s New Year, do you fancy a beer?”
“No thanks, mate, I’m feeling quite rough”
I may have blacked out after midnight I fear
But now I’m…remembering…Stuff
Slowly but surely it’s coming to mind
As glimpses emerge from the fog
Of a twist and a twerk and a bump and a grind
And my new Christmas phone down the bog
I thought I was hot but in retrospect not
In the morning light nowt could be plainer
And that I remember I like not a jot
My naked and drunk Macarena
Oh me and my mates, we do get in a state
And last year we gave it some welly
But if anyone had not enough on their plate
We’d do onesies and pizza and telly
My mates are my life, we’re a pretty tight bunch
They’re alright, mate, they’re really all right
But last night I must have been well out to lunch
For I reckon I started a fight…
It was something to do with a girl I once knew
And a joke that she did stuff for money
And a fine upper cut in the queue for the loo
Well, I thought the punch line was funny
Oh, what’s in my pockets, this isn’t my coat
As I’m clearly not Super or Dry
And what are the words that are writ on this note
‘Bell me, baby, you’re totally fly’
And I’m going commando, hilarious bants
Will be had in regards to my loss
Much mirth to be had from the sight of my pants
On the top of the Market Cross
It’s not looking good, and tucked in to my hood
Are two gherkins all wrapped in a bra
Half a kebab and a squashed Christmas pud
And a wing mirror nicked from a car
I think I’m experiencing chemical guilt
And at some point I’ll have to atone
But right now I’m going to hide under my quilt
Crying blubbery tears for my phone
by Gail
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016
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