Mondays I am larger than life,
cracking out witty remarks and snappy retorts.
Tuesdays I gleefully grant wishes,
a genie in a bottle (of vodka or gin or something-or-other)
Wednesdays I am chocolate cravings
and caffeine fixes
faster and faster
words tumbling, and tripping, and skipping,
fearing I may just
Thursdays, inevitably, I need a little nap.
Fridays I tolerate, my half open eyes
on the prize dangling tantalisingly on the horizon.
Saturdays I crackle and zip and zing,
I’m late, I’m late, I’m late,
Sundays I am quiet divinity personified,
love seat swinging, my hand safely tucked in yours.
Yesterdays I am the hero of my own dreams,
history painted with my artistic, merciful brush.
Tomorrows I am unflawed,
a blank piece of paper, a story full of promise as yet unwritten.
(insert here an exclamation mark of quiet despair)
I am small,
a mere wish upon the breeze of life,
longing to land.