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Thursday, April 19, 2018

Sunday Morning

The world is vacant
this early Sunday morning

except for the newspaper deliverer

and the liquor store
and the customer who waited for 6am.

Mostly people are inside
sleeping off hangovers

slumbering in a warm bed
of post-coital narcosis

lone desperation
passed out at a kitchen table
splayed with overdue bills
and trepidation.

Some greet the day with reluctance
some will ride bikes
and some will never know
Sunday morning exists.

As I drive my daughter
to the early church service
I pass stray tumbleweeds
the occasional roaming coyote
and a multitude of other
holy beings,
all unaware
that it is Sunday morning
or that it is January
or that it is 2009

but they are completely alive.

They are also ignorant
of their enviable

blissful

silent

existence.

5 comments:

  1. "of post-coital narcosis" ... I keep reading this as "post-coital narcissus," which I think is pretty :)

    This is excellent. I especially like this section:

    "As I drive my daughter
    to the early church service
    I pass stray tumbleweeds
    the occasional roaming coyote
    and a multitude of other
    holy beings"

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  2. Too many travel through life without living, sad....

    ReplyDelete
  3. interesting poem... Reminds me of Kris Kristopherson's song Sunday Morning Coming Down!
    Dwight

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  4. The image of those desperate waiting for the liquor store to happen in contrast to those sleeping or those going to church... Sunday can mean so much for each of us.

    ReplyDelete