Saturday, May 23, 2020

Sour Sunday. By Dan Provost




The shadows of
buildings hurt on
Sunday afternoon.

It sabotages small
freedom—our opportunity
to quiet those large
doubts in your head…

The bar is not an option today.
Drinking the nightmare of the coming week
off your mind is a Friday and Saturday
show.

No escape to the land of imagined
plenty today

We wait for the lurch
of marching orders on Sunday…

Knowing that your time is just about up.

Walking around the city, past
the office you will be enslaved
in tomorrow—

Beings begin to decry the norm…
Stomachs turn sour, souls deteriorate
into chosen hatred…

But it is those damn 4 PM shadows
that haunt…

The realization that stress, headache…

Depression.
Mortality.

Will fill your existence…
Starting at 9 AM

Back to necessary
             normalcy…

God, how I hate it.






Dan Provost's poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years.  Some recent publications include: Ariel Chart, Poetical Review, Merak Magazine, Oddball Magazine, Deuce Coupe, Misfit Magazine, the Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and the Dope Fiend Daily.  He has two books coming out in 2020.  Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press and Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press.  He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.

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