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waiting for the week
by Charlie Morgan
i was going home; an illusion.
it kept moving. not my home
but the illusion of it.
Tuesday dropped off it's laundry for the month,
said he'd be by in December and for us to wait.
i tire of waiting on days that may not show up.
all the witches were stirring;
each had a long-handled spoon;
the devil smiled, showed a tooth.
in my dreams all the women i kiss
have a moustache; they smile;
i miss my grandpa; he smiled.
but he wasn't hiding anything.
November trills the leaves upon arrival;
crackling whistles, all in a hurry to shop.
Christmas comes in November, but waits
until December to decide to stay a while.
11/18/2009 Posted on 11/18/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 11/18/09 at 04:55 PM Well, there you go again saying stuff that I not only wish I had said but wish I had thought. Your "time pomes" are always superb. You, my poet friend, have somehow divined the ability to squeeze out of even those lost days some inspiration to for the rest of us who are just muddling through. What your pome does for me is to help me realize that it's ok when a day drops off its laundry. Every stanza is a revelation, Charlie. Thanks. |
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