First, Monday flaps open like a freshly washed sheet
Hope snuggles up and says, This time
We can take a different approach
So we map out the problems along the way
And where the detours have to be
Tuesday’s like a cliff
A blind either/or
Ahead do we turn or slide down the descent
And how much concentration and courage do we need?
Through Wednesday’s binoculars we can see far ahead
It won’t be as easy as Hope first had said
There he was, just as before,
Unsettling indefinite haze in the head.
Thursday’s like an inn along the way
Half the distance we’ve already traveled
And now we know exactly where we stand
And perhaps in these difficult times, there may just be a way out
Coming along that very path Friday gives us patience
But it's clear that so far we’ve accomplished nothing
And now it’s getting late
And we haven’t even sent a postcard.
With that anxiety we enter Saturday
A subterranean space where it’s difficult to tell
Whether we’re moving or still
And when someone asks how I am
I say there’s nothing worth the telling.
The next morning Sunday comes
Day of rest and things
Assume their prehistoric immobility
Books lie open
The tea’s gone cold
Over there the pile of dirty clothes
On the table the phone rings and rings
And on my door someone’s hesitant knock.