Lament for Monday the 13th

Nobody cried for Monday,
turned thirteen, born bad
They say
dragged up by the hair
by the neck They say
shove it in our faces They say
wag it like villain like mange
like toxin
spat clean outta Sabbath

Monday moon is doll moon
dead eye slim moon
black marble moon
tarot moon

Day of wands
Day of swords
Day of cups hanged men
and charged women

The docket’s full They say
handing out sentence
like pastry — like swaddle

the sun has yet to rise
And yet,
We rise and limp to the gallows
with fire-eaters barkers
and similar ungainly thugs

In the name of the killer
the lung and the unholy host

Image: Lahiru Supunchandra on Unsplash

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