He broke his wings on Thursday
Not this Thursday though
But on the year he decided,
‘It would be better to fly than to float’
He shattered his wings
And watches the crowed descend
Upon his pieces
And feed from his scattered remains
They put him back together on Monday
But left him with rags for cloths
After scavenging his pockets for gold,
The threads that held his bones
Cricked in agony
So he limped to a house he seldom considered a home
He never remembered Tuesday
For it was a partner to a murderous Monday
That put the scars on his skin
And the shamble in his walk
He signed of Wednesday to Friday
Just because it asked
And because giving away was his specialty
For taking from him had been customary.
He groomed his ruined wings on Saturday
Getting ready for a Sunday that would put him on display
Above a pillar of hazy gazes
And wilted roses
Since beauty came before sentiment
As the eyes would never see
Beyond the glamour he lacked
And the weight that hunched his back
Thus he waited on Thursdays and his next resolve
Just to watch the crowed fall upon his empty alcove