229: Withnail is I

Here stood desk-leant
now feeling fine,
knocking back left over
swigs of wine:

Earlier Harvey’s
unsettles my gut,
a prelude to the morning’s
face-down chuck?

Unless I am lucky
and avoid a hewed-spew,
I’ll suck down my bile
and collapse in the loo

to attend to this toilet’s
spick-spanned wipe:
this is my prayer-mat
sick out of sight.