The Morning After, by Darren Oxton Subscribe to rss feed for Darren Oxton

Throat like gravel. 
That early morning feeling, is the worst.
With misty and crispy eyes, 
a slow trudge to the bathroom first.
Last nights revelling, 
Weighing heavily, on a young head.
The face in the mirror, 
sheepish looking. Shaggy old ted!

The alarm bell rings, 
sore throat stings, a velvet tongue of thirst,
He looks towards the side cabinet 
and notices a purse,
Like a gong to his ears, 
longing, to return to the dead,
Who was the girl, 
asleep in his room? His cheeks had quite gone red,  

Janet Farrelle, 
a plastic card revealed to him. Oh cursed!
Oh crap! What a fool,oh my god, 
Holy Christ! what on earth!
He knew her quite well, 
from his sons school. His heart sank like lead!
Dizzy thoughts curdled. 
It was a mistake- 'you dick head!'

The thoughts tumbled endlessly. 
To a feeling of mad dread,
How could he be so daft, 
to land the headmistress, in bed?
Posted: 2009-12-18 18:02:28 UTC

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2009-11-29 01:25:32Ky Moet
goog poem