Monday Mourning

by lassymac

The sun saunters in
beyond the ‘no trespassing’ sign,

crawls into bed with me
despite the blinds,

and warms your spot
already cooled and disappeared.

I turn and face
the glare of what’s to come

with the weekend recorded thickly on
my tongue–

a film set in the desert,
bacon sputtering under hot studio lights,

breakfast burning freckles
into recently discovered flesh,

freshly opened, just beginning
to expire.

It’s monday again;
the weekend will be kept
on ice.