Monday’s Out to Kill Me Kill Me

Monday is a duplicitous treacherous whore
a midnight murderer (you’re next -it will find you)
a useless begging in a dingy alley
Monday is going to kill me kill me
dead

just like my brain -dead
just like my soul -dead dead dead

Monday is an old man
that doesn’t want to get up
from behind the counter
in order to serve you a pack of cigarettes

Monday is a beautiful girl
without a soul
or a friend
without empathy

Monday is a late cheque, a mechanic’s estimate
a slamming door, a hung-up phone
a push, a shove, and sometimes a fist
a hole in your shoe or the side of your skull
a sister on crack and the
sewer that just ate your keys

Monday is a waiting room full of uninteresting faces
or a cigarette burn on your cheek

Monday is the spineless coworker
who just won’t stop complaining about the boss
until you want to brain him with your industrial stapler
but won’t because you would probably go to jail
and then Monday’s
would be the least of your problems.

I usually despise Monday’s
but today it’s a special mixture of resentment and
existential hollowness
my gut is still rotted
from Friday night
I can’t find my phone
and I’m stewing at my desk
like bad soup
overly angry
about my untied shoelaces
again.

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13 thoughts on “Monday’s Out to Kill Me Kill Me

    1. It’s a wicked thing. Whole day was excruciating so I thought about all the things Monday were to me and started writing them down at work.

    1. I loved the flow of your poem today! And thank you. Funny thing was that the person I was writing about was complaining to me while I was writing about braining him. Had he looked up at my screen he would not have been pleased.

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