Oh heck, I've slept in; it's half past eight.
For my Wednesday bridge I'm going to be late.
If I miss my bridge I'll be a bit sad,
But my partner's a tyrant and will be hopping mad.

When drinking last night, did I stop at four?
Oh no, not me, I downed a few more.
Whilst enjoying those drinks, I was happy and gay.
Alas, today, the price I must pay.

My head feels terrible, I just want to die,
But to get to bridge, I really must try.
But first to my bladder, to the small room quick. quick.
I might have to stay here 'cos I'm feeling sick.

A quick slunge of the face, a comb through my hair,
Now to get dressed I rush back up the stair.
No time to worry 'bout looking real grand,
I'll be wearing the first clothes that come to my hand.

Can't worry about the colour of my underwear;
There's a hole in my stocking but, hell, I don't care.
Back down the stair I must look a fright,
No time to bother 'bout getting things right.

A mouthful of coffee, of toast a quick bite.
To the front door, mind to switch off the light.
Out to the garage and into the car;
I wish the bridge hall just wasn't so far.

Over the speed limit today I must drive.
I suddenly realise I'm above 0.05.
Traffic's slowing ahead, I let out a cuss
Then a sigh of relief, it's not the booze bus.

Bit of luck with the lights, I'm doing real fine;
Now I'll just about make the bridge hall in time.
There's the bridge hall ahead, something's not right,
The car park is empty, not a car in sight.

Oh, damn, it's Tuesday!

Poem by Peter Graham, found by Judy Miller in the ABF Newsletter