A Midweek Poem For The Unsold Amongst Us
They could have called it "Hope Day"
because the end was that much closer
but there were likely concerns about libel.
"Slide Day" would have rolled of the tongue,
a veritable ripe garden pea to behold,
if it had only been given half a chance.
And surely "At Least It's Not Monday-Day"
would have been transparent, to-the-point,
but too long, never fitting on t-shirts or mugs.
So we were handed "Hump Day" in a dented box
without instructions, UPC cut out, clearly pre owned,
proof there had been something beneath the barrel,
and told with a bleached smile it symbolised all
was downhill towards the blue oasis of weekend,
a soft hill, at that, laced with sun and wildflowers,
leaving out any reference to the dromedary we rode,
scorching sun in our face and neck, dripping sweat
in our eyes more real than that glimmer on the horizon.