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Blue Monday

by David Hill

With my hand
I swipe the clock from its stand,
but I get up, uppity up.

Blue Monday
a cold cup of clouds
and jazz and melancholia.

But better than black Monday,
its tar pit drawing me down.
There’s no funeral to attend,
no tumor diagnosed (as yet),

and better than orange Monday
its sun burning out the retinas.
There’s no lover that’s left me
no critic’s stinger stuck.

But I wish it was green Monday,
lying lucky in a clover field,
hands laced behind my head,
a yellow butterfly perched on
the tip of my nose, slowly fanning.


Author's Note: can't trust that day

Posted on 04/11/2011
Copyright © 2023 David Hill

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/11/11 at 10:39 PM

Well put David. Clear, right to the point, and who can't relate in his or her own way?

Posted by Charlie Morgan on 04/12/11 at 12:44 AM

...monday, monday, monday! cool.

Posted by Linda Fuller on 04/13/11 at 12:22 AM

Green Monday sounds loverly; black and blue Mondays are very familiar. I very much like your final image.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 04/13/11 at 02:48 PM

Very clever coupling of colors and Mondays. The fanning butterfly on the tip of nose is very funny.

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