something and nothing

and then all of a sudden it was Sunday
as if hidden away behind Saturday night.

I’ll sleep until the church bells ring
and wake
and wonder
should I
or not
put on my Sunday best, a
two piece pinstripe, three if
you count the vest

( it’s waistcoat you waster, someone says )

Sundays bring the cleverness out in every
Tom, Dick and.
carry me off to a day long ago
where the right hand didn’t know
what the left would not show
or vice versa.

It’s later than it used to be
or is it me?

© 2018, John Smallshaw.