image: Israel Sundseth

Monday feels

8:25 PM

Some days are Monday

long and filled with discomfort

as worries return

haunting your “weekend feels.”

Some days are lies

worn by illusion —

a better future, after the diploma,

the long hours of OT,

the never-ending strike

made by hands that never sleep.

Some days are Monday

a reunion with routine,

traffic jams,

dispassionate strolls.

Some days are nights

late- and grave-shifters

whose bloodshot eyes go drunk

with conversations brewed

and blended in foreign tongues.

8:29 PM

Some days are idle

and I fall

or I wake to find this

terrible wanting

to kiss your lips

before they turn into a ghost.