Whining on a Sunday

It’s one of those
days when beer
lacks teeth
and
the mind spins
hopelessly
pining
for
the
insulation
of
raw
emotion
wires.

It’s one of those
days when dogs
pace uneasily under
desks and the skies
alternate
doom
with
stepped
rage
flashings
and
then
sheeting
downpours.

It’s one of those
days when a
welcome guest
has left,
you appreciate
the return of
quiet routine
yet
face again
the nagging sting
of loneliness.

It’s one of those
days when
Death stops by
for a lobster salad
sandwich
and
denies your repeated
pleas to tag along
during today’s rounds.

It’s one of those
days where
the reason for existence
has been toed beneath
the sofa with
jingle bell cat toys
and
47 soda caps.

It’s one of those
days which
will beg
a deathbed
request for
a “do-over.”