When the Day Doesn'T Know
The Sunday late morning came
Like its twenty-five hundred ancestors
The respite before the restlessness
Tasks and tidbits filling the space between them
And as I went outside
Leaving my inner sanctum for the hearth we all reside
The air seems cagey
My sleep apnea infecting it overnight
Well-lit tepid darkness sings in the day's broth
Coddled by the dampened, miserable tinge that
Lukewarm brings to a party
Today forgot it's name
Senior moment aside
Maybe hungover like me from
Desperate binge watching
Though for Earth
And the place it affords me
It's nothing but routine
So here's to the Jane Doe day
And all the things we'd love to call her.
(8/3/14)
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
