Glowie-eyed Creatures

On Mondays and Thursdays

no matter the day -

 

I walk into town

it’s a footpath away –

 

I buy up a butter, an egg

and some booze -

 

I pick up a bread and yesterday’s news,

 

My cabin’s decrepit

a shambles to see -

 

But just out of town

it’s a castle to me –

 

I have me a table, a chair

and a light -

 

And some glowie-eyed creatures

that show up at night -

 

I’ve got me a pencil, a pad

and some chew –

 

I occasionally spit

after writing to you -

 

For all that I have

there’s just one thing I lack -

 

A friend with a pencil

to just write me back –

 

Someone with a table

a bread and an egg -

 

A folded up matchbook

stuck under one leg –

 

A friend who could write

with nothing to say -

 

And send it to me

just a footpath away –

 

Then I’d have me a tree

with an old tripping root -

 

The one that I curse

when I fall on my snoot –

 

I’d have all the things

on this glorious day -

 

For I’d have gotten letter

from a footpath away –

 

It’s on cloudy Wednesdays

I strike up a fire –

 

I click up the lamp

only one click up higher -

 

I take out the book

though I’ve read it before –

 

And look where I left off

no - one page before -

 

The hero was chasing

though he seemed to be late -

 

A villain already

across chapter eight –

 

Tuesday’s of course

I mop up the floor -

 

I sweep out the corners

like never before –

 

And I oil the hinges

that hang every door -

 

I load up the washer

with colors and brights –

 

Gather my darks, my shirts

and my whites –

 

Sprinkle in soap

as the water floods in -

 

Then float half a lime

in a small glass of gin –

 

It’s Fridays, of course

that I love to see -

 

The air it is fresh

the wind, it is free –

 

It’s a gift that delivers

the weekend to me -

 

By Saturday night

my mind is adorning  -

 

The weekly events

that make Sunday Morning –

 

I arrange and embellish

I garnish and splash –

 

Add too many commas

an occasional dash –

 

I end it when I’ve

not a thing left to say –

 

Then wait for reply

from a footpath away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ZC