Monday’s Oranges

Monday’s oranges were not so good
Sunday there were lively lemons
That danced with like beads of water
On a hot pan
Saturday the mangoes rocked
Back and forth on on the roof of m mouth
Playing a mélange melody
But Monday’s oranges were not so good.
Friday there were cherries so tight and black
That I could clearly see myself.
Thursday there were sepia pears
That tickled the tongue, each bite
A delicious question, each question
A delicious bite.
But Monday’s oranges pallid and round, were not so good.
Wednesday there was a yellow slick of
A banana, a smooth mat to my waterslide hopes
Careening into the marsh of Tuesday’s peach dreams
But Monday’s oranges were not so good.
The dingy blue calico of the creeping suspicion
Smothered my breath
Monday’s oranges were bruised and scarred
And full of dents
And holes where a worm or two had found a home
Yes, these were bad oranges indeed.

Caught in the mire of Monday
I forgot the splendor of Tuesday, the wonder of Wednesday
The Tenacity of Thursday, The Freedom of Friday, The Scent of Saturday and the Salvation of Sunday
I only saw Monday.

Then suddenly I looked for my basket
Filled with the fruit that I longed for
And found that in my
Momentary
Search for Monday’s oranges
I had forgotten
The bounty
Of the week