the sun shoots up
and explodes like a rocket
last night's tears
still damp in his pocket
hair looks like he
stuck his finger in a socket
but he don't bother to look for a comb
he kisses her
forehead but forgets her name
he can't remember
what he called out when he came
it wasn't 'i love you'
but sounded just the same
men say the dumbest shit when they're hip-deep in strange
he swallows like
a man who has no throat
and recalls a lousy
little poem he wrote
and scribbles it
down to her in a short note
before he scrapes together some change
he almost told
her he'd see her later
but didn't want
to sound like a traitor
his favourite beer
is in the refrigerator
and he needs a place he can call home
Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-after/
