NEW POEM: The Morning After

The Morning After

A Poem by Simon Clark

Eyes full of haze, unable to see clearly,

Like cataracts, cloudy, patchy,

Patchy like my memory of what came before,

As I stumble from the bathroom to your kitchen door,

And see the signs and clues on the surface, by the sink and on the floor.

The muddy footprints from the garden,

Crusted, not slick, the radiator solidified them, made them harden,

It was raining and my throat was sore,

I must have smoked more cigarettes than I ever had before,

Traced those footprints back outside,

Saw the butts and ash that the morning sun had dried,

But in the corner was a tiny puddle of tears…still wet.

Back in the house I stepped through the crushed Stonehenge of beer cans,

Three brands, at least three guests, “the best night’s start without plans”,

My stomach was doing somersaults and my temples drummed in pain,

Inside the lounge was an empty wine glass still dripping out its stain,

We must have mixed our drinks, breath smelling of stale piss,

Wondering, questioning whose house is this.

Eyes full of fog, unable to make out shapes,

Shapes bend; my eyes fix on the drapes,

Curtain-rings twisted, pulled like morals to the ground,

The gossamer fabric ripped and torn without a sound,

Tattered pleats; my focus switches to the oak table in the foreground.

A cracked mirror next to the fruit bowl,

Single fracture, covered with a film of white dust, a smudged lick one tongue stole,

Empty wrappers (nine) abandoned, strewn,

The influence, the control, under whose hold I melt, fold, swoon,

Rolled-up notes and straws for toots,

Cocaine strutting through, attitude, a real Slyboots,

I felt the trickle, drops of pain falling on my lip…nosebleed.

Move through the crashed, passed out, Pompeii bodies who fell asleep,

Two I recognise – the rest unknown, stacked high, scrapheap,

My anxiety is acrobatic and my feet yearn to leave,

Break free and out from the darkened room I already once did grieve,

Walk away filled with regret, forgot the laughter,

That’s the trouble with the morning after.

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