Hung Over Poem by David Darbyshire

Friday Night
The bottom of the bottle in Sight
One, two, three in the Morning
Stomach grumbles without any Warning

Brain, belly and walls all Spinning
No way, could I go through another Inning
Four hours Sleep
Clutched in a Heap

The birds start to Sing
'Got to get out of Bed'
But there's still a Swing
Inside my head

Finally drag myself out the Sack
Really feeling totally out of Wack
Head say's go back to bed it's all Over
But ya you know the Drill
I'm really Hung Over