January 5th, 2016 Tuesday

by Brendan Strong

Tuesday is the worst day for me,
So far from the weekend, so deep in the working week.

Even worse is the first Tuesday of the working year:
Walking to work between over-sized Christmas-present headphones:
Making the music as clear as I’ve heard,
Making my head wider by a third.
I should mention the coat:
– The one with the hood, that my wife told me to take one day
To guard against the rapid pin pricks of winter rain:
Since then she calls it the paedophile’s cloak
It is billowy and it is sheer size, but it keeps my head dry –
Anyway, this thing is like a dress with skirts blowing high.

I am walking around our great capital city like this
Wondering whether to get a latte to drink on the DART
And wondering if all this means my dreams are on the breeze like a fart.

A quick check of my watch confirms they are
And snaps me into action.

Up the quays we walkrace,
It’s not just about being late,
But you can’t just let people pass,
Leaving you look an ass,
So if you’re passed,
Swing out into the traffic –
Be like “I’m crossing,
Too busy to notice the usual race”

Across the bridge for the train,
Always against a tide coming the other way,
They won’t be late and we won’t be late:
So we walk with purpose and put on that face.

My ticket is five euro and five cent.
Irish Rail, your pricing policy’s bent:
A fiver’s not enough to pay –
Six results in a paedocoat of change.

All the while the trains rumble,
Their horns and doors beeping while you fumble
With change to put in or change to receive,
Before you get to the platform to see the train leave.

So far from the weekend, so deep in the working week.
Tuesday is the worst day for me.

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