When I don’t work (e.g., this week)
My calendar begins to leak
And erstwhile “workdays” that I’d dread
In normal weeks are lost or shed.
I know it’s Tuesday now (I checked);
It’s over, though, when I’d expect
An endless, un-fun Monday first,
Not both at once, in one big burst
Of truancy. When Wednesday shows
Will I have time to gloat? Who knows?
At this accelerated rate
T.G.I.F will come too late–
T.G.Y.W.F. may
Acronymize my Saturday.
Vacation’s just one week, though. Whew!
It’s fortunate I take so few.


Spring Floorward

Today’s the day! Or maybe it
Was yesterday? I’ve missed a bit
Between my first and seventh cup
Of coffee. When did I get up?
On Saturday I went to bed
Completely comfy, rested, fed,
But something happened overnight
And since, it’s been, well, not quite right.
There’s something I forgot to do.
I think. Or not. Was it with you?
Did we agree to meet for lunch?
Oh, wait, it’s Sunday! Was it brunch?
Or is it Sunday? I don’t know.
I have a job, but didn’t go,
I’m ninety…eighty…percent sure.
My wife says I was here with her
Between her first and seventh nap…
I hate this daylight savings crap.

Month Of Fun Days

A month ago I took a knee
(Albeit inadvertently)
While pledging my devotion to
My soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, you.

Within a week we’d reproduced;
That boy’d been barely Dr. Seussed
Before a Blue Fish to his Red
Swam out into our waterbed.

By then, of course, we’d relocated
North to where our future waited
Wetly in the witchless Salem.
Life’s heights loomed, and there we’d scale ’em!

Weeks went by, the children grew
Like Monet views of me and you,
Our portraits in Impressionistic
Style: Us, but more artistic.

Three weeks on, the nest is bare,
Though brimming with the love we share.
It hardly seems a month’s gone by
Since we made we of you and I.

It’s time to celebrate, my sweet!
The Baskin-Robbins down the street
Has flavors for each day and night
In which you’ve made my life delight.

If every day had been a year
We’d still not be remotely near
The time when I’d grow weary of
Our partnership. Thank you, my love.


This discontented winter’s pending
End is near. We’ll soon be spending
Well-lit evenings mowing lawns
And grousing over early dawns
And seeking shelter from the heat,
Our shorts-clad thighs stuck to the seat
Until the AC shudders on…
Ten days. That’s it. Then winter’s gone.