post waltzing weasel

the life and soul of last night’s party

views with dread 

the very thought

of moving his head

well aware of the daggery pain

that would stab and scour 

each corner of his brain 

leaving him exhausted.

fragments 

of remembrances 

of conversations

drift slowly through his mind

making him seem fascist

uncaring and unkind

the breakfast he ate for bravado

bacon and eggs warm and greasy

lie on a stomach

already queasy

making him vow 

never again 

if I survive

if I escape 

this hangover alive

he recalls with despair the arranged

sunday lunch time pub meet

but to his surprise the first few pints

slips down a treat 

and the joshing from his mates

ease away

the shame and sorrow 

of yesterday.

from the life and soul 

of last night’s party