Tuesday

What Tuesday does is twist
around my legs making it
difficult to dance around much.
But I digress. The people
downstairs are cooking something
yummy, onions? Partial only
to the coffee in this blue cup,
standing up finally on the chair
only to be closer to the sky
in this room above even the bookshelves.
This room, how many things it has
observed. If it were able to repeat
a tape back of every second would
I watch it? Would I sit and watch?
Well, I kind of do, but that's another poem.
Meanwhile, life goes on all
around me; a decade skitters away
like a brown water bug carrying
all my belongings on its
crusty back. People have to learn
the hard way. It's time to dance.