Settle down Monday,
don’t push or crowd
or cut in line.

Be patient
while I brush up
before your sun cups

me round and round.
I’ll tie my shoes later
after coffee spoons

have measured me.
Monday, a click track
of existence, set

a pace down
between these lungs.
I will breathe a grace,

give thanks,
and skip
a beat or three.

I dare you…

Read a poem today. It doesn’t have to be T.S. Elliot’s Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock, but it’s not a bad place to land on a Monday.