Today Is Monday Copyright © Richard Whiting 2010

Today is Monday;
The writing’s on the wall.
I was alone, but now the birds sing
One by one, clockwork things
Outside in the dark world
They reach me
Inside, in mine.

A noise. He stirs;
My father, husband, or son?
He knows the fabric of each day;
As I fall through the fissured rock
That used to hold me firm,
He guides,
This stranger.

The clock ticks
Loud as a dawn heartbeat.
I watch the boiling kettle bounce.
Outside a fog is forming;
It swirls around Monday
Till its memory
Disappears.

He pours tea
My father, husband, or son.
I wonder what Monday will find
Deep within its own blank space.
He turns over the page-
Today is Tuesday
And the writing’s on the wall.