i only die on wednesday
when the gray sky lies
about waiting for a train
to skitter through lowell

i would call out, i would
for thursday, for sunlight
for the last black kitten
hiding in the rotting shed

i would, but death is here
and wednesday feels it tightly
like a warm willing noose
and a man without hands

death is a honest grope
for God – this i swear to you
if i still swear at all
in the aftermath of wednesday

a soul, a stagnant air,
monday’s prayer whispered and
forgotten – you are with me
death, you and cold loss

if thursday only knew this
sadness this want – politics
would be the kindness of faith
not the religion of liars

alas, i only die on wednesday