from the very first glimpse of world that greets you every sunday,
                                            tuesday
or perhaps thursday morning
the thought of an ordinary day will not dawn upon you
for every day, to you, will be as good as your first
and as bad as your last
life is your dress rehearsal
and its creatures are your cast

seated at the breakfast table
alone
   with alphabet cereal
swirling in milk
avidly spelling out the names
of all the galaxies
    and daydreaming
of sleeping under the stars

daytime means schooltime
which is synonymous with
underpaid teachers
    and high-pitched gossip
and boys with peach fuzz
who never bothered remembering your name.

the cafeteria is a habitat
which houses many
different species
of human
including the undercover poet
scribbling on a grease-stained
napkin :
the ballad of a sad child.

upon a steady return
to the undercover's residence
three things occur:
      his fountain pen is quenched
          his tears dried
and of course, a bitter realization
that his day had been most banal.

so once again the poet sets off

footsteps patting against textured carpet
   your shaky palms
grabbing layers of soft duvet
  dragging it across the empty floor
through the hallways
  and out the front door

under the stars
   you lay and weep:  safe forever
and fully submerged in the calm of the night

forever is not a lifetime
it seems
but the time it takes
for the sun to win over the moon
in a fight