The Page To Monday Turns on Sunday

The page to Monday turns on Sunday,
When the shadow from the neighbor's house covers half the yard, and
It's not too hot to mow the lawn,
The wisps of Bermuda sliced,
Grass bagged and dragged away.
It's 5 p.m. and still 90 degrees
So the dogs won't go outside except to drink from the pool and
Challenge the first step.
From here, I can see tomorrow,
Coming on bright and hopeful,
With a week of wishes before it,
A blank slate of promise and desire,
Sparkling with sweet potential that,
By midweek,
Is dashed and washed up like a
Stranded whale in Geographe Bay.
I can almost smell tomorrow morning's coffee
And am almost savoring the thought of driving to work,
At least for the moment,
When everything feels optimistic and life seems
Wholly worthwhile.

© Poem Fix 2012
Photo by Wing-Chi Poon

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