The Morning After

Throat like gravel. That early morning feeling, is the worst. With misty and crispy eyes, a slow trudge to the bathroom first. Last nights revelling, Weighing heavily, on a young head. The face in the mirror, sheepish looking. Shaggy old ted! The alarm bell rings, sore throat stings, a velvet tongue of thirst, He looks towards the side cabinet and notices a purse, Like a gong to his ears, longing, to return to the dead, Who was the girl, asleep in his room? His cheeks had quite gone red, Janet Farrelle, a plastic card revealed to him. Oh cursed! Oh crap! What a fool,oh my god, Holy Christ! what on earth! He knew her quite well, from his sons school. His heart sank like lead! Dizzy thoughts curdled. It was a mistake- 'you dick head!' The thoughts tumbled endlessly. To a feeling of mad dread, How could he be so daft, to land the headmistress, in bed?