THE MORNING HANGOVER

I woke up this morning with a hangover A real one and not the child’s play of last week I felt pains all over It wasn’t Mami Kah’s overnight, no It was the leftovers of the Fon’s residue It was ginger brown And bore all the hallmarks of our forefathers No adornments, no embellishments No, just them in their natural form Naked Plain Pure Untasted Undefiled Rustic Unrefined Virgin. That was it for a walkover But surely not only for the meek After all, did Simon not know of the Passover? We all crossed with no blow Everyone paying his or her due But very mindful of the Fon’s crown None of us was clad with feathers Because we each knew our commandments There was therefore no one to reform Even if some of us were half-baked Writhing in pain Of ourselves not very sure But certain of what we had wasted That’s why we were reviled Sarcastic Confined And suspicious of any virgin.