Order Poem by Ivan Donn Carswell

intoxication of the previous
evening plays callous games
not so much a classic hangover
as a sense of disappointment
that evades capture and
categorization

what on earth were you thinking
sounds more like Mother talking
than a rational grip on morning’s
reality yet you tidied up and put
the empties away before
you went to bed

waking to last night’s dishes
usually says things are much
the same but today’s greeting
frankly puzzles – you can’t
explain the sense of order
decide what must have changed
© 9 October 2009, I. D. Carswell