"You have to get up," I said.

She lay
In his bed.
Blinds sliced the grey winter light.

Eyes dark,
My voice hoarse,
A hand at my aching head.

She asked,
"Why must I?"
As traffic noise rose and fell.

"Because you have to know when to leave the party, kid."

She got up
After that.
I suppose there was something in my voice
That didn't bear arguing with.