Monday

I woke up pissed at the alarm

the whaling sound of another morning

that came too early

rush to the shower

rush to work

rush hour

(what's the rush?)

read the obituaries over coffee

half expecting to see my name

dead tired of the monotony

the grind of penance

for crimes I didn't commit

fallen grace?

I didn't eat the damn apple

shaking off the Sunday guilt

I am supposed to feel

and settling in to another Monday

half alive