A Ghastly Day.
There wasn’t anything jolly about that day,
the sun was glued to a pale sky, just like
a Guantanamo torture room’s lamp that by
fault or (kindness) had a fifteen watt bulb.
A thin day, the only good thing about it
was that it wasn’t going to last forever; not
a freezing day but dripping humidity which
chilled the old bones
A mean day and faces which walked about,
on unwilling feet, wore no smile to brighten
a time when even traffic cops were too tired
or comatose to pursue a speeder
At home the telly told of a plane crash,
wallowed in details, showing us a blood
soaked pilot’s cap; depressed I went to bed
and hoped to be spared more nightmares.