The weary spririts of Friday
april 13, 2007
woke
This
morning,
in the mood
The
Kansas
City
Streets
still
Wet,
and
the
gutters
running
full_
Of
rushing
streams
from
the
nights
April
rain
clouds
of
Payne's Gray
moved
close
to
the
ground
swirling
shifting
wind
smacked
the
rust
weathered
screen
against
my
bedroom
window
whisps
of
cold air
crept
under the door.
From
the
oily
heater
one
room
over,
the
sound of the
thermostats double click
was
pleasing
the
eruption
from the ignition
was
like
the
chorus of
of a
60's
Rolling Stone's
Song. . .
Slow Ð off-- beat
with the groove
of
the
thermostat
click,
But Explosive;
strong
smell
of
kerosene
filled
the
room
There were
never
enough covers
for
a
day
like
this!
never
enough money
to just
lay
in
bed!
only
with
a
swig
of
Jack Daniels
from
the
half-pint
tucked
safely. . .
in
my
mattress
could
I
leap
on
the
cold, cold
Carmel
colored
plank
floor. . .
followed
by
cups, and cups
of
black coffee
with
chewy
bitter
grounds
floating
on
top
THEN
could
I
face
the
weary spirits of Friday. . .