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.
