Hangover Poem

Hangover, you drive me into the yardto dig holes as a way of working through youas one might work through a sorry childhoodby riding the forbidden amusement park ridesas a grown-up until puking. Alas, I feel likesomething spit out by a duck, a duckother ducks are ashamed of when I only tried to protect myself by projecting myselfon hilarity's big screen at the partywhere one nitwit reminisced about the 39¢a pound chicken of his youth and another said,Don't go to Italy in June, no one goes to Italy in June.Protect myself from boring advice,from the boring past and the boring presentat the expense of an unnauseating future:now. But look at these newly-socketed lilacs!Without you, Hangover, they would still betrapped in their buckets and not becomethe opposite of vomit just as you, Hangover,are the opposite of Orgasm. Certainlyyou go on too long and in your gripone thinks, How to have you never again?whereas Orgasm lasts too short some secondsand immediately one plots to repeat her.After her I could eat a car but here'sa pineapple/clam pizza and Chinese milkshakeyum but Hangover, you make me aspireto a saltine. Both of you need to lie down,one with a cool rag across the brow, shuttersdrawn, the other in a soft jungle gym, yahoo,this puzzle has 15 thousand solutions!Here's one called Rocking Horseand how about Sunshine in the Monkey Tree.Chug, chug, goes the arriving train,those on the platform toss their hats and scarvesand cheer, the president comes out of the cabooseto declare, The war is over! Corks popping,people mashing people, knocking over melon stands,ripping millenniums of bodices. Hangover,rest now, you'll have lots to do laterinspiring abstemious philosophies and menial tasksthat too contribute to the beauty of this world.

Dean Young