The Morning After The Night I Got Smashed On Cheap Port With Lewis Carroll

by Salli Shepherd

Frowzened and groobish, I stummer from bed,
gangboister’s boots jigging jigs in my head
while a cruel bromnigation of alcohol brims
my tum, as though vordinous ghotifins swim
a whorling twilation within. I am queeky,
tongue-skirld, limb-flamm’d! Lo, what cheeky
portwine doth snucker from porcelain bowls—
grogmuddle juice busy mockering holes
in my brain, via shrapnik and canterish rocks.
I refute thee, you dreggersop! Back in your box!
Don’t worry — I'm sure that I’ll glissom up soon,
climb back in the saddle, bright as a spittoon,
the moment I stop jellicanthing like wax.
I was nunk as a drape. Now I’m not. So relax.


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