Tough-Talk Monday Morning
by Judith Cullen
The alarm is the first to speak up,
klaxon of Monday's dawn arrival.
Could another 30 minutes be stolen?
The voice of commuting cars nearby
confirm time will not, cannot wait.
I want to stomp my foot, to rage.
I want all the little things to inflate
to insulate against things that matter
the things that hurt, wound, frustrate:
despair, anger, and disappointment.
My aged inner voice says, "grow up!"
wild, childish passions of the weekend
are banished, rinsed away in the froth
of cooling lavender scented soapsuds.
Then standing, fully rational and adult
I face the chill air of a brand new week.