It must be Tuesday

You might find me on a ‘Yellow Page’
underneath the midnight stage, the band
it seems
live out their dreams living in their dreams
or so it seems to me,

I look at Q-tips think they’re tulips smell the flowers
live out my hours just like this

and almost sluggishly time moves in and out of me
looking through to me watching time.

I was a river once
but silt set in
and now
not knowing where to go
I hardly flow at all.

Why so sad?,.he asked of no one but the shadow
sleeping on the bedroom wall
and again the shadow fell at nightfall.

Screaming from a dais into the
madness of utter chaos
I mutter, ‘Merde’,
absurdly French and I
don’t know why.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.