October’s Blindside on a Sunday Night

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The night sky winks
At the purple moon.
October is almost in
The rearview and November
Waits with bated breath.

The dog stretches in her bed.
She kicks her back leg out,
Wiggles her creaking body,
And turns over to another set
Of dreams.

The TV is background noise
While I give birth to
Two poems, microfiction,
And a lamentation that’s been
Trapped in my heart for a week.

Monday is around the corner,
Shaking its head at the job
Ahead of it–it loathes us just
As much as we do it.

Sunday kicks its feet up,
Positions itself comfortably
On my couch, and kisses the
Night goodbye.

Tomorrow, I’ll be drowning
In headaches of the pre-meditated
Kind–they’ve been
Waiting for me to clock in.

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