To the morning, hail

I glanced at the cracked mirror,
My sorry face was dead pale.
I rubbed hard my tired eyes,
But to no visible avail.

No, it was no wonder at all
I felt like bombarded by hail.
Last night I got pissed as a skunk
With the help of some no-ginger ale.

I looked through the news
Like they were written in Braille.
What little I could see in there,
Alas, was less fresh than stale.

I got up from the chair,
walked as fast as a snail,
all the way to the front door,
just to see there’s no mail.