THIRD MONDAY.
A POEM BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©
I’m on my local street
And it’s raining
It’s the second Monday in January
Not even the third one
The one that everyone calls
The most depressing day of the year
That’s next Monday;
I just seem to be having mine
A little early
That’s all
I’m wet and my back hurts
From humping these shopping bags around
And I’ve a mountain of worries
Stored up in my head
For careful use throughout the coming year
I’m starting to categorize them singly
(I’m very particular about my worries)
Fearful of losing one
Of letting one fall in the gutter
And roll away down the street like a frisbee
When a one-legged man
Whizzes past me in a wheelchair
His aura trailing behind him
Like a birthday party banner
So that I can read it clearly
‘Count yer blessings, love,’
It calls to me
‘’Cause yeh never know the day nor the hour.’
And I pack away my piddly little troubles
I’m sure that they won’t mind
Waiting another week
To be allowed out
sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris 