The Morning after... By Lee Cassanell

Four in the morning your eyes start to flicker Mouth is a mire of tobacco and liquor What happened last night? Who's to blame for the slaughter? Lips stung and dry call for Aspirin and water. Not sure when it ends but I know where it started A drink on the grass at a warm summer party You smoked for a while Then you smoked a while longer The girls clapped their hands while their kids danced the Conga

Somewhere in the sun the abandon took over You felt a day younger but looked a year older The friends came and went And the folks bent your ears The wine turned to Gin and the Gin turned to beer As time shuffled by like a booze soggy sailor You looked at your clothes and you questioned your tailor Too dirty for dinner Too cool for the club You decided to fuck it and head for the pub

The Jukebox was loaded with Lennon and Lizzy The Coke in the Vodka the right side of fizzy You searched in your pockets For silver and pennies Your smokes had run dry and the guy's hadn't any A face in the mist made a case for the Actress She was due on the stage but you needed a mattress You swayed to the theatre Slouched down at the bar Amazed that you made it this drunk and this far

The play was a torture unrivalled in history The plot paper thin and the motive a mystery Your eyes became glazed As your conscious diminished By the time you came round all the nonsense had finished. You ran down the Aisle for a Whisky injection But switched to the wine at the waiters suggestion The actors came out You where rude to the lady When you told her the script wasn't your kind of gravy

What happened last night? That's that the prize winning question You remember Chinese and a spark of aggression You recall an attempt to write something with meaning Then the blackness of night and a loss of all feeling Four in the morning before the dawns broken Your mind drifts to letters and words still unspoken You enjoy the last kiss That you caught in your dreams Then the dream fades to blue and you wake in your Jeans....

Copyright ©2004  Lee Cassanell

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