Morning After

How much did I drink?;

I'm barely able to think.

Time to survey the damage;

With coffee in hand, I'll somehow manage.

The kitchen is strewn,

with remnants of streamer and balloon.

Yesterday's coffee, still in the pot,

Not proud, I'll nuke it 'til hot.

Now on to inspect, the rest of the home;

Hopefully I can clean it, all on my own.

The dining room is happily whole;

some spills on the rug, where a few glasses did roll.

The living room took the party pretty well;

No stains on the cushions, as far as I can tell.

All the furniture is upright and at rest;

each flat surface covered in cups, like some drinker's nest.

So out to the yard, I wander with dread;

I'm worried its state will send me back to bed.

Sure enough, like a hurricane went though,

litter reins supreme, there's a lot to undo.

Plastic cups and napkins, and stray party mix,

I would say the hurricane was about strength six.

Cigarette butts and six-pack rings,

small liquor bottles are just some more of the things.

The whole yard, a testament to vices and loves;

A condom? I'm going to need plastic gloves.