The Best Monday Morning, Ever (2)

April 30, 2007

The Best Monday Morning, Ever,
appeared at first to be no different
to any other Monday Morning.

At 7am, we were lifted
from the dark blue loam
of Weekend bed like

frost forced vegetables.
My back was bent from awkward sleep-
and your hair curled-

like a mollusk,
reluctant to leave
its pillow.

And it was the same
as every other
Monday Morning ever was, except-

The Best Monday Morning, Ever,
was not just any
other Monday morning

On the best Monday Morning Ever
There was no work,
but rebeling against it

like oil dropped into
vinegar. The Best
Monday Morning ever-

was you and me,
shuttered in the bell of a hurricane
distant from the ringing of

phonecalls and emails and all the
cold water creeps
of leaving Sunday evenings.

There was toast
and tea and
hot brown chocolate,

drunk with crumbs and clean pressed sheets.
There was apple and blackberry jam
spread on slabs of thick brown toast.

There was Radio 4 and a
book of Billy Collins’
poetry-with a black Alsatian

and a floppy earred rabbit
bounding on the cover
and there was blue sky seen

through a rectangular mirror of
windolene. There was a
black winged raven

gliding like an eagle
and a red brick tower
shining in the sun. On The

Best Monday Morning, Ever,
there was no going to work
and I did yoga cobras in bed

while you surfed the internet
and it was better
than all the rare and shiny

Christmas Days,
than all the summer holidays,
all the Saturdays and Sundays

On The Best Monday Morning, Ever,
it was:
The Best Monday Morning, Ever

and then-
it was Monday Afternoon.

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