Back in time

I went to the beach today. It was mild. I thought about taking off my jacket, but then I didn’t. It would have been too cold otherwise. Off season, the sky was dull enough to make the beach look appropriately empty. Some occasional, timid sunshine to make my face squint. I set my headphones to some music that sounds inappropriate anywhere else. I walked slowly. I had to, I’ve just undergone an operation. Some odd footprints on the foreshore. Could it be my native inhabitant of the desert island? My Monday? That’s the day today. But they are feet with a stick. Possibly wood. Possibly an old man. Funny how quickly this image took shape in my mind. An abandoned boat laying enthroned on the sand. Must have been at least 40 years old. I wish I could go back in time today. Or forward. As to tell my future children to not trust anyone. To not follow any advice. Not even, not especially, mine.

Number 9

Through a whisper
the yellow Monday
promises eternity

Through its tears
the scarlet Tuesday
salutes the sunset

Through a soired
the blue Thursday
kneels on the Sunday

At the time when the troubles has settled
under your skin
into your veins
when the head bursts of love
and collapse into a swirly farewell

Waiting for the Monday again
to swallow my memoirs
of a troubled soul
which I failed to grip hard enough
on my dry chest.