The Week Ends on Monday


I chuckle
Not because of what you said
But because
Of how wrong you are

Friday is Anguish.
The week has been cruel
I have finished my acting

Saturday is Alone.
All but abandoned
by myself
Face glowing blue, to escape.

Sunday is Hope.
That next week will be better
That someone might ask
“Are you OK?”

But no one ever does
Because I hide it too well
A cardboard cutout among statues
Who appear two dimensional.

Blame them
Blame myself
In the end it’s the same
And by Friday I want out.






The Head That Balanced.

A notch aligned with a post

And perfectly balanced upon


is a head.


So precarious,

the slightest breathe of fate may

blow it from its perch.



The post





Alas, to no avail

the head remains true to its post

A finger moves a centimeter

A mother bemoans

A father drinks

A sister sobs

A brother hides

A wife grieves

A child

has to push themselves

on a wooden swing set

built by a love

that no longer may forge

childhood memories.


For the head has fallen

from its perilous perch.

A human yesterday

A number now

A million missed moments to be proud of tomorrow.