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 flip 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 sweats, 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 –
And wait for reply
from a footpath away.
ZC
No comments:
Post a Comment