Monday comes in with arrogance, suit made of rigid
lines and sharp angles. The briefcase, black and leather,
is outdated, but he insists productiveness is better
acquainted. He dyes the white hairs, organizes his
day by minutes, and only when he comes home to
Tuesday do his shoulders slack.
Tuesday ambles along, dress ironed and a vibrant green.
She packs the school lunches, cleans, cooks, jogs,
familiar with routine. Behind a soft smile it is gloomy,
a lack of purpose manifesting and the fear she is too bland.
A round child is heard, shouting nonsense
with crumbs framing his lips. Wednesday runs,
orange shirt bright as the personality. The parents
are relived when he leaves at daybreak, just
as the teacher is keen to hand him off when the bells chimes.
The boy is energy with a mysterious source, freckles
ready to crinkle with each wide smile and whimsy shout.
A skinny shadow tip toes into a bedroom, puberty
cresting the corner. Frustration is stitched into clothes,
So many milestones at a fingertip’s edge.
Occupying her mind, she dives into books rather
than plans for the weekend. Thursday watches the night premier
of a blockbuster, tasting the excitement her older siblings
have. Jealousy pikes, then simmers.
Friday struts, hands busy with glass bottles that came
from a darkened hallway. Speech never heard over the
roar of music, and mouth often sealed around a tube. Chug!
Chug! It is tasteless, chaotic, the epitome of fun and
Friday embraces the discord. An empty house has
precedence over grades. A red tank top smells of sweat, too
many pumps of cologne, and is stained with lipstick. He is busy
with no plans, crowd surfing, overwhelmed, high on elation.
Saturday saunters with poised grace, violet dress tight
but humble for a job she can wake at noon for. She tries
leading by example, though her brother never takes.
Girls night! means the club and free drinks, lipstick
that never smears, and the knowledge on how many glasses can
meet full lips before the night is at an end. She leaves dignified,
but in the taxi she stumbles and laughs.
The grandfather purses his lips, stationary on a recliner
with an undying grimace. Shoulders hunched, spine
bent, he mutters criticisms despite the love for family like
the love for morning prayer. Wrinkles deep, traditional
in a white gown, he is retired. Sunday, respected, reserved, and ready
for his family to barge through the door.