today was the loneliest monday.
it rained.
loneliness drove me to the pub.
the best part of this monday
was the two dollar mac and cheese,
with the sriracha on top.
five minutes left of the game,
i didn’t care. but my eyes kept wandering
to the screen like they were meant to.
truckers came and went.
i made eye contact with a chef with turquoise hair.
maybe they all stared while
i had my head in a book of short stories.
talked to a bored waitress about nothing.
it was all small-talk, anyway.
then, that foo fighters song you used to sing
came on, and i heard your voice in my head.
i cried when i got home;
curled up on the bed (i made the sheets)
in my pajamas,
in the dark,
and my cat, he curled up beside me too.
sometimes i wonder if he can recognize the sound
of a human sobbing, and what it means.
at the end of my nap in the grey afternoon
i wake from erotic dreams
psychology text books, and my best friend’s hands
running south along my body
and me sighing
writhing.
But this doesn’t happen in the real world
when mondays are sad.
in this world there is nothing but the rain
and empty bottles.