Sunday, 3 July 2016

Anyway it's Sunday


Sunday morning tenuously
What a night it was last week
Far too much insanity
My mind is playing hide and seek

Nothing much to do today
My puppet strings are slack
In the air I sense a niggling
Views of Monday murky black

I may get up eventually
Coast around with vacant look
Slouch my pouch on the veranda
Think of easy things to cook

But then again more likely
If I can find my mobile phone
Reserve a table in a quiet haunt
With no opinion to condone

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