Friday, 10 July 2015


How retching makes you feel
like such a wretch.
The thousand yard stare
Into a bowl of disinfected water
Nauseating on its own.
The bleary eyes
Furred tongue
And throat a fury
Of bitterness
A feeling more deathly
Than death itself
Since there is nothing in extinction
Your mind throws up
All kinds of possibilities
Was it something I ate?
Something I drank? (Too much of)
A regurgitation of options
And if you've eaten baked beans: watch out
They'll fly out of your nose
As leguminous missiles.

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