It’s Friday Morning;
it’s no good mourning Thursday,
just get over it.
It’s a Thursday;
well, as days go –
and they do –
it’s the only Thursday that matters
at the moment.
I mean, when tomorrow (Friday)
arrives,
today (Thursday)
will be condemned to the past – history –
and we will all have moved on.
Anyway, it’s Thursday,
and that means…
well, it means different things
to different people,
probably.
Happy Thursday;
hope it meets all your expectations –
if you have any –
expectations, that is –
about ‘this’ ‘current’ Thursday.
‘This must be Thursday,’ said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer. ‘I never could get the hang of Thursdays.’
It’s Thursday
and it’s raining,
it needs no explaining
but the dogs must go out.
“Hey, Dad!” they shout.
“There’s a lot of it about,
and we don’t care
if the weatherman says it’s raining…!”
I couldn’t argue with that;
and, so, here we are
an hour later
wetter than an otter
soggy as a…
well, pretty wet.
Towelled down and frisky
(we don’t want to be risky)
and showered and dry
(that is my
warm up)
we are inside and warm…
still it does rain
and later
we get to do it all
again.
It is a ‘wet’ Thursday.
There is little more to say.
In fact, as the year is heading to its ‘wet’ end,
Most days of the week
Will require people to seek
The illusory safety
Of a brolly.
How jolly.
 | The Febrile Imaginin… on My Poetry – in a Nu… |
 | Jackie Lowe on My Poetry – in a Nu… |
 | trE on The Butterfly and I |
| The Febrile Imaginin… on The Butterfly and I |
| trE on The Butterfly and I |
