M O N D A Y
This is the day everything I have ever put off
Comes home to crow. Two-faced pizza moonday,
You boast a borrowed light, and yet incite the sun
To mundane disputes over the week's management,
While werewolves howl in toadying mockery.
But Monday can malinger permanently, for all I care,
Though you side with the rain, and plot against Zeus,
You are no match for me after five cups of coffee.
Let the tide rule itself, I'll knock you off
That cratered perch with David's sling and a moonstone,
I'll shake you off like a clingy lover, Muckday, while you
Crawl into Uranus to suck the sun's big, flaming cock!
T H U R S D A Y
The week is
yet inchoate, that is Thursday's charm.
Still time to disarm hearts, to slow the earth's rotation,
clouds to sky, to carve the Aztec calendar,
To form the very universe from mist.
Humble Thursday, refused to let the week begin
With rain. Let Jupiter swallow Kronos; this day alone
Can promise sun, and on this day I could lose my dread
things cold. Ennui carry me on your flaccid wings!
The euphoria of full flight is imminent and sure as death,
also be a kind of flying. Let my limbs trust
This breeze; my eyes will trust that light will never blind,
And everyday is Thursday and I am never finished.
S U N D A Y
How could Sunday ever live up to its name?
How could anyone dare this day to catch
an unfaithful lover in the act, to slip and fall
while walking the dog, or resist
stealing the neighbor’s paper. I forbid
that second cup of coffee; you won’t be much
for napping later. I forbid you to talk of money,
or lovers from your Harvard days, and I command
ten lazy caresses by the ocean.
Who would waste this day on confession,
repentance, or absolution?.
Who would not love, absolutely, the sound
of you clipping you fingernails ?
I will genuflect before you as you work at your desk,
but I am not praying—such gestures superfluous
to the perceptive ear of God.