In the early hours after a blacked out night,
my life opens the curtains and asks me how I am feeling.
I don’t remember having invited the skinny weasel into my bedroom
so I ask what it is doing here,
where I am all private part before I put on something decent.
“I have seen you worse,” my life replies.
“As your life, I need to make sure you are not too happy
about your actions of yesterday evening,
from about eleven till three am.”
“As if I want to know,” I moan. “Get lost for a while.”
“I am like a hangover. I shall give you a splitting headache
and you shall regret every breath you ever took
between eleven and three.”
“I take you up on that challenge and ignore you,” I suggest.
“Like I do with hangovers.”
“You had no alcohol last night,” my life nags on. “Why is that?”
“I am living sober these days. You should try it sometimes.”
“I can’t be sober, I am your life, I need booze to give you inspiration.”
“I don’t hear you. And now you mention it,
you haven’t given me much that I need lately.”
“I shall make it up,” my life promises.
It slips into bed. It puts an arm around my shoulder.
“Let’s be pals again. I shall give you entertainment.
Come on, I have been with you all along,
even if you were not happy with me. I am your buddy.”
“You smell of sewer.”
“You compare your life to a sewer now? That is rich.”
I close my eyes. My life won’t leave me.
It whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
“Okay. Tell me then. What did I do
between eleven yesterday fucking evening and three am?”
“You had es ee ex.”
“You and that fellow. The one sleeping next to you now.”
“My husband and I had a romantic encounter. So?”
“I am your life. I do not like you to be happy. Not like that.”
“I know,” I say. And now I see a tear there.
“Come on, old fool,” I say. “I know I am often angry at you.
But look how you have treated me in the past.”
“Hey, there are other lives a lot worse than I am.”
“I know. And I wouldn’t trade you for the world. Feeling better?”
“I want kissies.”
Sometimes your life drives too hard a bargain.
I give it kissies and it falls asleep.

This is my attempt to make a ‘compare’ poem, after the famous poem by Paul Durcan. The idea to make one came from Belfastdavid, the runner of a poetry Workshop (which I didn’t attend btw as it was in the UK)

Comments on: "My life compares itself to a hangover" (15)

  1. Wow, what a challenge! And tou met it brilliantly, and gave me a smile in the process!

    Ive not read any of Paul Durcan, thiugh David often refers to him. i shall have to seek him out 😊.

  2. I will go to Amazon!! 😊 Xx

  3. Im a book collecter, Lol xx

  4. Very clever, your life as an alter ego of sorts scolding & advising you…

  5. Good experiment. You pulled it off.

  6. Laughing Out Loud

    You would have been a real asset at the workshop Ina 🙂

    And you clearly have an affinity with Paul Durcan 🙂

    His book – ‘Life is a Dream’ should be in every persons poetry library.

    He is a poet who believed inherently that poems are written to be read out loud

    David xxx

    • Hi David, thank you 🙂 When a few years ago you advised me Staying alive and Life is a Dream, I only got Staying alive. Now I hope one day to purchase the other one too 🙂
      Thank you very much for letting me “participate” with the workshop! 🙂

      Arohanui 🙂 xxx

  7. If I can be honest, Its ‘bloody’ brilliant. You really are something else

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: