What day is it? Are you mad?
Have you peered at me closely?
I'm well over seventy and retired,
and a half stone throw from senility.
Each weekday seems the same to me.
I cannot differentiate one from another,
and that's okay, for I needn't be anywhere,
anytime for anyone, unless it's a cardiologist.
Well, maybe Sunday's a trifle different because
it's when my senior-sitter swaps a diaper for a tie,
on me, not she, before taking me for a special ride;
save she won't let me loll my tongue from the window.
So, I drool over myself, wetting my clothes and the seat.
And the rest of the week? Days come and go as oft as I pee.
Therefore, my advice, repeated, if unclear, what day it is,
would be to ask another half my age, half my age, if it
is a workday: Monday through Friday or a Saturday?
As for Sundays, you needn't ask if I'm wearing a tie,
but simply go your way and have a nice day, for
you know the Sabbath is a day to rest. Zzzzz.
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Author Notes
A mad, mad world is upon us, and I have joined the waiting list to leave.
Feeling sort of silly this morning, as those who read me can attest. This is the second mess I have written today. Read, review, and enjoy. My mind remains a mystery.
I typed it leaning diagonally, originally, but cannot see how it transfigures advanced editing. we'll see.
Photo taken by me and edited on Pic Monkey.
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