February 21-27 A week has gone by

Mondays breathe in but give us nothing back
for all the hours spent trying to make sense
of a day better left as part of the weekend left behind

Tuesdays, a different beast entirely, shape, form, purpose
former works of art that some families, in this case mine,
buy and hold close to the chest. Too close.

Wednesdays are, since the 1750s, known as small saturdays
by those who know better than their contemporaries
as days best spent drinking until you forget
what day it is.

Thursday is fit into the groove of the tongue badly
interrupts custom patterns, adding brass fittings
catches the ears of onhearers.

Friday is a merchant, a lawyer, an office holder
everyday luxury enough though, added later
to signify an escape but still starts out serious
enough for the work at hand. It consumes itself.

Saturday is a retired General who fought with
great fervor, owned it once. A faded paper says so,
but perhaps, if it’s genealogy is intact, it will
show us the light.

Sunday is inexact, I want to know what it has absorbed
in all it’s travels from there and back again
it stands mute, breathing nothing back.

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