Touring in drinks.

Last night I conducted

A diplomatic summit of spirits.

Kingfisher opened proceedings.

Tequila chaired the session.

Rum brought a coconut.

Moonshine arrived uninvited

And set fire to the minutes.

At 1:31

My watch shrieked like a startled gull.

“Abnormal,” it declared,

As if I were a faulty kettle.

I rose, queen of poor decisions,

Staggered to the toilet

In ceremonial dignity,

For a bleak and necessary pee,

While my heart thudded in my ribs

Like a fox caught in a dustbin.

The mirror offered no counsel.

Only mascara ghosts

And the faint pink bloom

Of a woman who has challenged her liver

And lost on points.

Morning now.

Coffee. Milk. No sugar.

The house quiet as a field after rain.

My heart, entirely reasonable,

Has returned to its post

And files the incident under:

Metabolised Tequila.

So glad this rare occasion is rare

Too old for this.