Monday

I have one sock in my pocket.
It is missing it’s other half, grey,
my thoughts placing bare feet
in loafers penny colored.

I broke a towel rack before this.
While retrieving blue pants
from the counter.
It started with a small square piece,
then I decided I’d try fixing it.
Instead, the whole rod came crashing atop mother’s makeup bag.

I stared in the mirror.
God, I don’t want
to get upset over this.
I really don’t.

Tears welling, refusing
to come out.

Here I’ve sat under
dreary, less opinionated
sky, wondering
when angels above
will cry.

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