I love Monday

Day Six National Poetry month.

 

 

 

 

I love Monday.

 

Poor Monday no one loves him
He is the start of work.
Personally I think he’s fine.
But Sunday is a jerk.

Sunday is a nasty day,
It brings out every berk
Don’t go out on Sunday
unless you need to work

The Sunday drivers mess about
To drive at nought point two
And every sunny Sunday
cyclists are there too

The pubs are packed, cars line the streets
Not knowing how to park
So they like to dump their cars
to form a question mark

Family MUST come down
on Sunday for a roast
You’ve had all fecking week
To be a crappy host

Weirdo’s go out for a walk
not the usual rambler.
Not wellies but stiletto heels
a muddy rebel gambler.

And so it ends with songs of praise
and antique sort of shows.
You saw it all within the week
you remember that stuffed crow*

So give a break for Monday
Its rather nice compared
to Sunday the day the madness
The day that’s just impaired.

 

* Which was valued at 20 thousand quid because it died with a hint of amazement on its face.