Days Of The Week

Days hang together

pegged on the line.

Lollipop pink t-shirt days

and grey nappy days.


Mondays dawn cold and humourless,

packed lunches and percolated coffee,

routine barks orders

and the cat refuses to go out

till the cream has soured.


Tuesday motors its way along the week.

Soccer training melds into

a night meeting, followed by

meat and three veg thrown onto the table

as a hasty wholesome meal.


Wednesday sighs in its pause for breath.

Clean socks and undies are running low

Order unravels as the week gathers speed.


Thursday is borne, merely tolerated.

Time pulls on its coat tails.

The fridge is bare and enthusiasm is low.

The dilemma of tea can easily overwhelm


Friday nights sag into the settee,

takeaways grow cold on the coffee table.

The debris of the week

lies in the clothes hamper.


Frenetic Saturday mornings

pulled taut between

supermarket and dry cleaner.

Shopping trolleys breach road rules,

carrier bags bulge and purses flag.


Sunday afternoons,

like cushions strewn on the floor,

haphazard pockets of recluse.

Tobacco stained hardbacks

and Marx Brothers movies.



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