Sundays

People pace around on their toes,
on Sundays, afraid to go back
to their bosses.

The cars all sit lifeless
in the parking lot,
petrified
until they are told.

The strays have nothing to eat,
and drink the water dripping
down the length of rusted downspouts,
hoping all the lights will stay off.

Still, they are freer than most,
able to go anywhere
they can carry themselves.

The speed of the sun is apparent,
and the day will end quickly.
Rain will rise from the earth
back up into the sky.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s