Speedo
Monday, he awoke early;
amazed by the mirror,
he saw himself as wing-footed Mercury,
the first around the block
sipping coffee on the fly,
wiping a sleeve across his godly mouth.
He sensed Tuesday in his stride,
checked the clock for Wednesday,
dove into a deep minute’s doze
before waking in time to jump up
and dance around with Thursday.
Friday was just as fleeting, just as frantic.
At noon, he checked a timepiece,
and midnight whispered “easy.”
That was a swift week, he thought;
then his inner guide beckoned softly
moderate your pace, relax your time.
With the weekend everything changed:
A slow gin fizz imbibed with company,
relaxed conversational chatter,
Chopin in the air.