Losing Track
Once you are retired
(And there is no going back),
The days are interchangeable
And you keep losing track.
Monday feels like Friday
Or like Saturday, perchance;
You’re never certain ‘til
Upon the calendar you glance.
It’s slightly disconcerting
But it’s cutting loose, as well.
Each day is like another,
All the same and parallel.
A part of me still misses, though,
When I could really say
TGIF was reason for
A hearty hip-hooray!
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2014
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