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,
To introduce
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
For all
things cold. Ennui carry me on your flaccid wings!
The euphoria of full flight is imminent and sure as death,
Which must
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.