Never on a Monday.

A Hard Working Liver.

I rose weakly from a sweat-soaked night,
Peeked through the blind, saw a chilling sight,
The rising sun already glowing hot, bright and white,
Climbing up towards another promised 100 Fahrenheit,
I cried and averted my bloodshot eyes from that blinding light.

I stood, swaying, parched and dry,
Not one dark cloud to dim the azure sky,
The hangover dragging me down from my high,
My phone RANG! the clanging caused a pained cry-
I hope my fiery boss might understand why I don't reply.

But his loud insistent demands can't be pushed aside,
And so I dressed for work, sober suited if still half tied,
At work I stared zombily at the pulsating screen, red eyed,
The clock crawled up to noon, began its slow downward slide,
Would my bilious feelings for my boss remain bottled up inside?

I was paying dearly for my night of high-spirited fun,
It felt decades had gone since my ghastly day had begun,
I toiled drunkenly doggedly on until the long day was done,
I left when darkness fell, slow-walking towards the Rising Sun,
Sat down and set to work, relishing smashing down the first one.

I'm glad to say I have to happily thank
A pal who helped me out when I over-drank,
When I think of the gross amount of shots I sank-
Enough to get me barred- from bar and blood bank-
I'm happy to be living lucidly, not stewing in the drunk tank.  

                                     'At the end of the day why not put in some overtime?'

'And again, and again,
It's happy hour again, and again, and again,
It's happy hour again, and again, and again,
It's happy hour again.'
The Housemartins, 'Happy Hour.'

(This is a revamp of a post from a couple of years or so ago. I thought it worth doing a slight rewrite after recent events. Sometimes when you meet an old drinking buddy again and he's unrecognisable to you, and vice-versa, it makes you glad you're now only a very occasional and social drinker.)

©Obbverse.