Monday, March 29, 2010

Sunday

A long-view of a week.
Entwined somewhere in
bundles of today,
with prognoses about tomorrow,
are mildewed stories about yesterday -
This fortuitous holiday
at the end of a bus-ride
is only some two hours away.

Somewhere, phones continue to beep
unwarranted messages and
unspoken ones too.
The list is endless -
many things
intersect and jostle in the air outside on their way to our phones.

We are fighting
still; our little skirmishes.
Casualties sit still,
with prophylaxes at hand,
against memories of our knees far away.
We grow knobbly now,
and buckle sometimes,
only to catch ourselves unawares -
We smudge our momentary weakness.

We criss-cross paths
on our way to the kitchen and back
(where travelers eat) -
listless for news,
suddenly stricken with
happy gasping;
pangs of small mirth
seize our bellies.

When will we have finished our shifts to minister to another Sunday?

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