Poetry in Whining

A Monday Lament from a Night Walker mugging fork

My back aches 
My shoulder hurts
I want to go back to bed

My bones creak
My brain’s still asleep
I hurt to much to be dead

My coffee is faulty
My movements are halting
Monday has come around

I worked the weekend
And work tomorrow too
Yet I am still Monday down

Monday’s have their pull
On the working world
It doesn’t matter when they come

At the beginning of the week,
In the middle, At the end,
Even after the setting sun.

Published by: thecoffeefox

Once upon a time there was a woman who was a writer. She was either cursed or blessed from birth to be so and there was much debate on which it was. One day a very discouraging (and not very original) person told her not to give up her day job. The woman smiled and said that was a wonderful idea. Following the unwittingly clever advice of her critic, the woman found a job working nights, which left her days free to write. Even better, the night job had an unusual schedule which packed two weeks worth of work into one, so the writer was able to have every other week off to sit on her front porch, daydream, and of course write. However, working at night and writing during the day left little time for sleep, so the poor writer occasionally went a little mad, but she decided it was an acceptable price to pay to be able to continue following her curse-blessing. Also she likes tea. :)

Categories Bad days and/ or nightsTags, , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

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