AFTER THE PARTY

AFTER THE PARTY

Yesterday the world was double and enveloped in a mist,

Like the fog of a pea-souper in November,

And whom I'd met and what I'd said and whom I'd hugged and kissed

Were lost forever. I could not remember

Arriving home, crawling upstairs or falling into bed,

(The aftermath is time for second-guessing)

And, because of mini-armies waging war inside my head,

I spent a doleful morning convalescing.

The afternoon was better: I had tea and buttered toast

And thought of you (my faculties were clearing):

Handsome, lean, a perfect gentleman, always the thoughtful host

But with little human touches - so endearing!

By evening I was wretched: what must you have made of me

Lurching round your room unsteadily, a danger

To life and limb and peace of mind, a cannon loose at sea,

Telling no-so-funny jokes to any stranger.

This morning is White Monday: everything is crystal bright

Except for: me - I'm gloomy with repentence.

I'll email you or perhaps text or maybe even write:

Please don't judge me with a distant prison sentence.

I'll be different in the future: I'll give up the demon drink,

My behaviour will be lady-like and sober.

But call me back before I change and tell me what you think.

I could start next month - or wait until October.

Do nothing in a hurry was my mother's sound advice,

And, after all, some skittishness is charming.

A triple gin - much later - would be really rather nice,

When I'm merry I am thoroughly disarming. 

Your next-best friend, I recollect, laughed loudly at one pun

And said he found staid women somewhat boring.

As I danced and flirted madly, he declared that I was fun.

Better wake him up now. I can hear him snoring.