wb :

college morning college coffee

college hangover

and there's the umbaqanqa on the speakers,

beats pushed like a street vendor

hawking coke and hash,

and there's a torrential sadness,

'as if I didn't know my own bed.'

my friends are asleep and entangled.

I put my legs up against the wall,

wishing them conjoined dreams and

conjoined happiness, looking out,

at the rain

Then I start to pick up the pieces

of last night. I rearrange covers

and blankets, then shirts and drunken

kisses, hands held irresponsibly and

shirts and socks.

candy wrappers. orange juice -

I find a headache beneath a pillow

have you considered prophylaxis, sir?

take two for toothaches and hangovers

four for guilt and six for misadventure.

dustbin.

bottles and sheets.

So the morning starts to roll downhill

I file the night between the anthology of Renaissance music

and the book of essays, hoping it'll be mistaken

for study. That's a lie -

I lie back, watching the rain again

as snores are lost within the drums

as they reach the shutters,

mingling with the traffic and the morning.

Every college student knows

that last night was the end of days;

that this morning is a hazy afterlife.