Monday Already

The alarm clock rings
Sirens of alert
Singing me back to reality

I used to be alive
I used to be vagrant
I used to feel awake

Living as fast as freedom
Flying through the nights
With cigarette smoke
And empty bottles
Left in my trail of livelihood

Now
I'm crawling at the pace of the day
Carefully buttoning up my shirt
Knotting the laces of my shoes
Watching the clock for time

I count the minutes
How many do I have left?
What do I still have to do?
Will I be late?

I used to be free
I used to not care
It used to be the weekend

Reviews

[Lauren..]

Good imagery keep up the good work

[barleygirl]

Altho I'm blessed to not be working now, I'll never forget the feeling of the Monday-dreads for all those decades of working. Your poem artfully expresses many of those feelings in an original way. I especially like your repeated lines starting with "I used to be . . . " and then at the end, tying it up nicely by extending this to "It used to be the weekend."

[Timothy Ryan]

Thank you. I wanted those lines to blend together, because it's almost like I have two different mindsets. One during the work week and one on days off. I can't wait to not be working anymore except to write.

[That Guy]

Mr. Ryan... Very well emotionalized to us working stiffs! Every day is like Monday! Oh, heading to work and my buttons are in line....
Thank you Mr. Ryan!

[Timothy Ryan]

No problem. Thank you for taking the time to read and review. I'll have to check out some of your work sometime soon.