LPiA Nov26
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 26

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 

Topic : Write a poem with a day of the week in the title.  "Black Friday" "Bleak Tuesday" "Hypochondriac Wednesday" etc. 
Form : Any
Line requirements: Eight or more.

Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Telecon Tuesday

I led a telecon, for a federal agency, every Tuesday
that included folks from coast-to-coast
at 10 field centers. Before the roll call
I'd give the same greeting, and if I didn't
someone was bound to point it out:
you forgot to say, "sure glad it's Tuesday."
But that wasn't the correct greeting.
It was always:
After more than 15 years, I was surprised
that no one ever called me out on it.
Blue Monday to Black Friday
a quick trip as the weekdays grew longer
filled with paperwork and fantasy.
The whole sick crew, my comrades
in the hole, shifting the forms 
from one box to another box,
not so secretly in love with our distractions,
games of love and hate but never indifference
as above us the fluorescent lights kept watch:
there was Lucretia, the office femme fatale,
Rufus who looked like the cowardly lion
flaming red hair and beard to match,
Drusilla the unhappy maiden, 
Titus, conspiracist extraordinaire, 
Romulus dressed to the nines in suit and waistcoat.
It was a department of misfits where
I happily landed.  Five years we spent
together, thwarting all attempts 
to turn us into a functioning bureaucracy.
On Fridays I had to leave them behind,
facing a lonely weekend of dismal waiting
until Monday came again and with it
the joy of seeing them anew,
paperwork in hand, forged passports
to another weeks’ eruptions of delight.
“All persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.”  Kurt Vonnegut
The kids are going out again on Friday:
they're going back to worship on their Mountain.
They press themselves against their Western Wall
and make out like they're in the Song of Solomon.
It seems the plague that he had sent to free
his chosen people from who cares is over
though in this version of the Exodus
there was no Moses, no Red Sea, no Pharoah,
and all of Joshua's grapes were pressed to drink.
King David's music hit the charts remixed,
Elijah's flight to heaven was rebooked,
and Daniel's dragon died of diabetes.
The kids are going out again on Friday:
what will they do, once he wakes up on Saturday?
Good Day

One-day makes way more sense. Twos
day naturally follows
but why not jewels day, then dirt's
day. Some people call it thirst
day already, Saturday
Is for Saturn worship, play
day makes more sense to me, or
rest day, last day, it really doesn't matter. Whatever.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Gray Thursday

Like a tired and ashy-backed
old mule the fourth day pulls
reluctantly.  Hump’s past
and joyous Friday’s harness-off
is future out of mind and sight.
Thursday hesitates but perseveres
too tired to kick, too winded
to bray even a justified complaint.
It’s downhill, Jack, but that
just makes it harder on the ankles
and worry about being run
over by that heavy dam’ cart
with no more brakes
than a cuckoo clock.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
Garbage collection on Friday
makes Thursday Bin Day-
gateway to the promised weekend land
and so Wednesday’s the gateway to the day to the gateway
and Tuesday’s the gateway to all that -
every day gives you something to look forward to
and the weekend arrives in an anticlimax.

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