When tomorrow comes

Oh no
what happened?
where did the weekend go
Again?

I’m ruminating on the fact
that once more
we are being attacked
by the working week.

the working class
( of sixty something)
should be retired,
not wired to the grid.

I still have wine and
what’s time got to do with
what’s in my glass?
still,
the week will pass and
like gas
it will evaporate
or
blow up in my face.

I’m going to bed
being led into Monday
by my dreams on a rope,
like ‘soap on a rope’
but
not as sweet smelling

© 2018, John Smallshaw.