Eyes On Strike

Eyes On Strike

Eyes On Strike

My lethargic fingers
dip, set to flick,
coffee into uncooperative eyes
refusing to rise on mornings
where I’ve gone and bitch slapped
alarms for just doing
their job.

They don’t want to see another
Monday for me where I’m
kicking gas peddles around
like a horse I’m willing
to ride to the ground
and spit on when it
dies and sputters
out.

Gone on strike, they crust
sealing this fight and
refusing to blink open
and let me see that
there’s a whole five long days
between the weekend and

me.

____________________________________________________________________

We’re all thinking it, but I’ll go ahead and say it: Monday again, folks.  Isn’t it just a drag? Still, we’ve got to come together and get ourselves going. I know we’d rather keep our eyes closed and just sort of stumble through the week but, grab that coffee, and see if you can make out a little light at the end of the tunnel for me, would ya?”

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6 responses

  1. “I’ve gone and bitch slapped
    alarms for just doing
    their job.”

    1. It’s a beauty, yeah? Nothing like getting the phrase ‘bitch slapped’ into a good rhyme. It’s a crude brain I have 😉

      1. I take a knee…I bow…

  2. Oh…you do express most feelings about Monday well. 🙂

    1. 🙂 Well, thank you. I do my best.

  3. […] A is for a – muse – less – “The Procrastitorian” writes of “absurd little things in life” in an “easy language” known to be “consistently colloquial, sometimes crude; but always classy,” like in “Eyes on Strike.” […]

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