A poem by Cadence Bommarito, Freshman English Language Arts Education Major
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Monday is my throw away day
Scribble me out
Tuesday
I stare at the ceiling
Wednesday is filled
With naps
On and on the week fluctuates and bounces
Put those words together
Flounces
One could say I’m flouncy
Or rather confident
My confidant may argue
But it’s his job to
Speaking of which
Jobs are day to day
Weekly days, days of the week
So innocent
Like that of a worthy lamb
Drive him not to a cliff but to a Shepard’s sword
And eat his liver
Live on She will
Frolicking and grazing
Oh cheap labor it is
On Monday night dinner
If you scribble me out of the pages
I promise I’ll behave
Because behavior is meaningless
When you have no idea how to act
Amongst a group of peers
Amongst your confidant
The audience is critical,
I’ve learned
People need people
People need people
People need sheep
Who is the sheep
The Shepard
Or the lamb?
And why must we be just one
When truth be told: the audience is never going to behave
With my pages blank,
besides Monday scribbles, long Tuesday nights and Wednesday’s napping,
I withdraw from writing the days
Instead I’ll appeal to the militia
Salute to the very army that sent days of the week
Because what in the hell is a Thursday?
Blank my mind goes because Thursday is army green and November is purple
But this is unimportant
Irrelevant
Utterly useless
Unless
The itching and the scratching and the biting was all worth that fruitful Friday night
But I shouldn’t forget Saturday
Lively
And Sunday
Where did Sunday go?
I do not know
I never will figure that one out
But maybe the stupid lamb knows
Maybe it knows something I don’t
Is that why it follows suit?
And behaves in a manner of Shepherd's staff to grassy mud to lamb’s hoof
One by one the hooves trot
Leaving a trail of pitter patter
Through
Monday’s scribbles
Tuesday’s contemplation
Wednesday’s slumber
What day is it at 12 in the morning?
When the sky is still dark from yesterday’s sunset
But the clock features “a.m.”
Meaning it’s finally Sunday
Oh no this can’t be right
Wrong “S” day of the week
It’s Saturday all over again
I can’t do another Saturday
Not with all the pitter patter
Crickets chirp now too
Louder than the audience’s applause
That’s your queue
Clap for me
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