HANGOVERS

Like rain brings out the mosquitoes,
hangovers buzz with demons.
I'm struggling to my feet at noon.
I am going to fill my glass
--half filled--
with freshly squeezed orange juice.
The comeback slowly begins,
not with a winning streak,
but with a few victories.
You suggested that I read
Pablo Neurda's Ode to the Present.
I believe I would prefer an ode
to the past or the future
although they wouldn't be
too different from the present.
Next beer's on me, amigo. 

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