Friday night’s perspective
so different than
Monday morning’s
one sparkles around a corner
one searches for any light
one celebrates what’s to come
the other laments what’s done
in this moment
the future and past melt
butter on blackened bread
you never have to stay airborne very long or fly very high low on gas? instrument malfunction? landing gear issues? you can usually glide in for a safe if not bumpy landing the danger of longer more a
Katheryn’s grandfather clock her once proud companion now sounds to me like a broken ballad for her shrinking world striking every hour on the hour a church’s procession song in long vibrating tones
vaccinated boosted well- distanced responsibly masked so it wasn’t my fault the physician’s assistant had the snivels that day he scoped my nose and ears felt the throat and proclaimed me healthy