The horizon’s rays of yellow, orange, and red
Shine beyond your blinders and creep into your bed,
Slowly prying open the shutters of your eyes.
Like the sun, your aching body stiffens to rise.

You meander sluggishly like a Neanderthal
And stumble about wondering if you’re going to fall.
Sure, last night’s intoxication was fine,
But now you regret answering the call of the wine.

Oh, how that digestive burning must feel
When your stomach continues churning last night’s meal.
The vile witch stirs and stirs her volatile brew
Until volcanic regurgitation erupts its spew.

Feeling this sudden urge, you race to the bathroom
Before the brew races out of its tomb.
You rush into the room, but enter too late.
Puke-filled yellows, oranges and reds permeate

Every spot of every wall and tile
With the colorful sight, smell, and taste of fresh-squeezed bile.
Entrancing yourself in that momentary fixture,
The crack of dawn sure painted its pretty picture.

Russ Clement