DAYS WILL BE DAYS

the world
awoke
to her

here it was
in all its glory
but

it appeared to be
day-less
as if it was just

a chunk of time
without a particular
day attached to it

"How peculiar..?"
she rubbed her eyes
"How...very. . .peculiar!"

but it somehow
smelt like
a Sunday

that stale smell
of boredom
and time gone rotten

just then the clock
flicked over its neon green
numbers to create

the fact that it was
indeed seven and
indeed a Sunday

she snuggled down
under her duvet
refusing to come out

and meet the world
which sent its sunlight
sneaking through the slats

in order
to spy upon her
search her out

she decided to see if
she could climb back into
the dream she had

been in
but it closed
itself to her

it was no use
seven
of the clock

it was
and a Sunday
to boot

she yawned
like a cat.
and the cat copied her

looking blindly
for her glasses.
finding them with her foot

she tried to
bring the world
into focus

I don't like Sundays she sang
to the tune of
I Don't Like Mondays

Outside the window
the world waited
patiently for her. . .