Voodoo Hangover

The blinding flash of heat sears
Through twin arching brows
Steam piffles out of beetroot ears
‘I feel less man than louse.’

A hand goes to aching sides
A groan, ‘It’s like a needle’
Baleful look fries his insides
Can’t cut his usual wheedle.

‘Just a sip of champagne I swear
And maybe another sip later
More my dear, I would not dare!’
Lame excuses dig a deep crater.

Far off a hand in thoughtful hover
Over cushion of shining pins
Venomous heart of Bale-flower
Shall extract payment for sins.

He loves me! He loves me not!
A vicious jab, he writhes in pain
Never shall I be thus forgot
Be this wish foolish or vain.

Ab-ib-ala! Ab-bo-ibee-lee!
Crescendo rise of the chant
If he can't decide to be with me,
Surely with Her - he shan’t!