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. . .