The newspaper drapes a lifeless

shape over the arm of a couch, like

fallen leaves of yesterday; past shadows

of news and names.

Lines of cars pass by below. The street

yawns of morning. The aroma of coffee

walks to the bedroom where last nights

clothes lay asleep on the floor.

The overhead piping creaks. Someone

walks heavily in the hallway. A window

shuts strongly. A brief opening in a cloudy

sky sheds slivers of light before closing up.

A black cat moves to another window sill.

I wish tomorrow was Saturday.




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