You think of Monday
The blues, the rhapsody of anxiety
The work tumbling like the tide
The possibility of a heart attack
Or worse a stroke
[Some garlic bread please for the heart ailments]
And then you still look through the mania
Grab hold of an oar
Paddle past seconds, minutes and hours
To a place where no one can touch you
When you see feathers of a swan emerging
Beauty in all her merits.
A day, a little fatter around the waist
And slower in gait, like a café in a sleepish Sicilian town
Inviting you with some anti-pasto
At the bureau, a countdown leads to the pinnacle.
And soon at the top of the hill,
At 1 PM on a Wednesday afternoon;
Push becomes pull.