There’s So Much Sunday

Posted on 04 November 2009

There’s so much Sunday
in Saturday, so much cud and pulver,
so much stooping over to offer alms

to the asthma haunting
the apartment, unknowing
what motors the tick

in sitting with mother
letting her love her beloved
Renoir, sitting in side-buttoned
boots and half-excuses

when nothing is running
nothing is plugged in
nothing up nothing doing

so much Sunday boring the cornea
with the gist of lemon oregano

day fraught with doilies and porcelain
coffee cup rings crippling
the linoleum

Sunday the unending understudy
Sunday too much in itself


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