Thursday, July 7, 2022

Plague Poem for Day Eight Hundred and Twenty-Seven

I remember “hair of the dog” days

The morning after the night before

And all that, I overdid a party or

A bottle by myself and then woke

To this – groggy, a blurred memory

Of what precisely went on after

That all too familiar cutoff point

When things get blurry and I stop

Being careful with what I say or do.

“Hair of the dog day” was what came

Next when I’d start looking for things

I was sure were lost, my wallet, keys

And on some occasions my car. I’d

Begin looking, trying to recall and

Things would get worse and so I’d

Decide on a hair of the dog that bit

Me and soon the day would change.

My readiness and energy would seem

To return and soon I’d be talking to

Myself out loud and be ready to take

On the world. Then a “hair of the dog”

Would turn into the dog gnawing on

Me again. I do remember those days

But how they ended is a bit vague.

J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, Black Coffee Review, Sparks of Calliope, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Journal of Expressive Writing, Lightwood, and Highland Park Poetry.