Yes, you have come awake to find yourself
swimming blankly back and forth across
the pool. Small comfort to be right.
Yes, your breath really is that bad.
Yes, your offerings are indeed that sad.
Somehow as you slept the week has crept
forward in the night, passed you as you splashed
about in slumber's cooling lake, lapped
you silly and left you in its wake.
There is a weariness and worry
that fills most Thursdays, a helium
of tension that can make your voice
take on a funny timbre, so look lively.
Stay limber. Once more the beds all need
to have been made. Skim your fears
like stones over the tide coming toward you
in the laundry basket, and pray there is nothing
in it you can't live without until Sunday.
The weekend winks like a flirtatious
girl at a party but nobody is staying
out late tonight. Today we are in the thick
and almost through. There is still so much
you told yourself you'd do. Beat down
your bafflement like dough, give rise
to the yeast of your yearning to answer
the call of duty without giving in to all
those other voices. You know the ones
I mean, they are always speaking
never seen. Lock your doubts outside
like cats on a screened in back porch;
let them breathe fresh air without
giving them the power to scorch.
What's your point? You can not know.
You're probably late. Get up and go.
Your thirst unslaked, your smiled faked,
just dance with this day what brung ya.
Stand on the loafers of the larger future
the way you used to do with your father in the den.
It's deja vu all over again, but that's all right.
It means you know the words to this song
and you can hum along until another week takes flight.
