Poem: Monday Daydreams.

monday is the colour of concrete

telephone lines tensely moving with

the steady stream of internet

job-searching, house-hunting, dreaming


his furry tummy is moving slowly

his whiskers are twitching with sleep

my feet are chilled meat, my hands all bone, but

my heart is warmed by his breath which atones

my disconnected body, my unused life


the present is an endless time and

eternity passes me by like it is nothing but

one thing after another, like lining up toys

as a child would – orderly, but meaningless.


he rolls onto his back and chirps

his mind filled with birds and garden walls

I put my hand behind his head and kiss

and this, this is the only truth I know.


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