The Life of a Week
How brief the weekend’s
fleeting flare;
how it coruscates, gleams
as it dies
How alluring the platter
of proffered repair;
the respite just tasted
as it is yanked aside.
How commodious the chaise
until it is upended
and we are rendered
up into the lion’s maw
we hurtle through, tumbling
until down becomes
up and stays that way,
forcing us to make
a path through fieldmine exigencies
we rush to meet, dashing
much as a fowl divested
of the burden of a head,
the quicker to complete its task
of defusing them all.
But at length we are processed
through the beast’s insides,
and sprint becomes stride
as thoughts contort, fold
to again fill needed molds,
and the mind, now purpose-
primed, takes up, enacts,
and surpasses each task
with formidable efficiency.
Yet what we scuttle to stay afloat
amid weekdays’ waves
is the very same
free graze of thought
that first lifted humans’ gaze
to the heavens, let it lose itself
in that maze of flames,
and bade us ask what lay
beyond.