One Morning . . . Another Hangover

half past noon, he’s having a Klondike bar
for breakfast.     empty bottle at the foot
of a motel bed, he stares from bloodshot
eyes out at August sun and shadow cast
by a young eagle overhead, sweeping
over highway 27 and New
Circle.     what happened last night.     memory
seems to have stopped recording some time late
in the evening   —   after dinner yet well
before unconsciousness assumed him, lucky
to be in a bed, though whose bed it is
he cannot guess.     grateful for their unplanned
hospitality, he helps himself to
a dose of aspirin before taking his leave.

David M Pitchford
8 August 2012


2 thoughts on “One Morning . . . Another Hangover

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