hump day poem

It is a trifle, but I get so many requests for it, this is just to shut everyone up.

A Snowy Hill Named Wednesday

It is downhill from here.

Not like your 50th birthday
when you realize that the odds
of getting lucky on Spring Break
are pretty much astronomical.

But more like the snowy hill
you climbed (in those oversized boots
your Mother made you wear to stay dry)
so you could ride your sled.

All you have to do is hang on
and yell and scream in childish glee
as the cold air and snow rush past your face
and you feel that gratitude for living.

Laying in a heap at the bottom
a metaphor for Saturday morning
when you haven't yet gotten the gumption
to do the lawn or visit your Grandmother.

Then you extend the metaphor
and find yourself on Monday morning
dragging the sled behind you as you trudge
up the snowy hill to Wednesday, again.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.