A Monday Poem
On Monday morning, there’s no shimmy in my hands as they press anxiously against the steering wheel. Contrastingly, the aroma of fabric softener reminds me of how effortlessly light I was on my feet when Friday first grabbed a hold of me.
A single inhale reminds me of how exuberant I was when I first began my weekend dance. My uniform was stripped off me. It was only a teaser of time as each article peeled down my spine into the washer machine.
The shower beckoned for me, and I offered no resistance. The water played a rhythmic tune on the ceramic floor as the soap slipped down my sides, twirling down the drain with the rest of the weekdays, and I closed my eyes.
I always seem to open them in Saturday’s trance, then frolic and prance in flower fields of fresh air. Another deep breath, and I am reminded how much the tango of peace can replenish the mind.
Because the weekend is a short strut, a stunted jive halted by the Sunday’s demise. I exhale. There’s no shimmy in my hands as they press anxiously on the Steering wheel. Having to wait another five days because the boogie resumes on Fridays.
The weekend passes quickly. Where does the time go?
[…] In other words life is no longer a party! Enjoy your college years while they last. It’s a short strut a stunted jive, so Cheers to your College years and hang in […]