Monday Morning by Gwil James Thomas

Monday Morning

The weekend 
was a clown on their day off, 
stepping out of bed only to slip 
on a banana skin and fall 
onto their cacti collection –
the passing blur of a tree trunk 
from the window of a moving car – 
a fresh shiner an and empty wallet 
from some back alley slight of hand 

It is cold outside, 
but inside this kitchen it’s 
a reptile house, as a chef then throws 
a pan and I’m asked to put on 
some music and I choose How’m 
I Supposed To Get Up In The Morning 
by Hank Wood and The Hammerheads.

Once again, my song is skipped
and I return to my section laughing – 
ready to get on with it all
and I will do throughout this week, 
until the weekend suddenly 
reappears in the same way 
that love manifests –
something like a burning church 
cleansed by welcomed rain.

Gwil James Thomas is a poet, novelist and inept musician. He lives in his hometown of Bristol, England but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His eleventh chapbook of poetry Gold Chains Around Our Necks, Hellhounds at Our Heels is forthcoming from Holy & Intoxicated Publications.


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