A poem of time.

Saturdays slip by into
Sundays,
melding into Monday
only to find
Tuesday has been and gone,
Wednesdays
hold the line, bisecting the week
until Thuesday
breaks the hold opening
the door for Friday,
when I sit
thinking of it all as a passing parade
my usefulness fades,
time accelerates
and slows down at the same time.

C26