poetry

the porcelain telephone

i tried to wash off the
hangover
it stuck to me – like a
heavy kiss, of a plump
lover
(that will not leave
your lips alone)

it was Christmas morning
everything was
happy gay
(and lesbian, of course)

the shower rose screamed
Good Morning
into my booze crusted ear
and goddammit i could even
hear the carols
and laughter that
marched into my head

i clamped my mobile
and just like my
shaving cut – it bled
out a message

it told me lunch at 10
presents, people, and
peppered prawns again

just the hangover stuck
to me – like the christians
and the Christmas tree.

PhilosopherPoet

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