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Mmm-monday. How you wait for me on the corner of the weekend, eager to have me in your hold! The kids and spouse have gone their ways, so we meet over coffee like secret lovers.

I soak in the freshness of your scent, my sweetness. Your presence can only mean that the dirty sins of the week past have been forgiven by the washing machine.

I need only you to banish the growls of hunger. You bring the promise, my precious, of uninterrupted grocery shopping that satisfies the very core of my refrigerator.

We’ll write new stories. Oh yes! We’ll sing new tales with our restless toes, dear Monday. With you by my side, the gloom of dust on dented floors disappeared along with Sunday.

With this orchestra in my heart, I’ll do things I’ve never dreamed. Like cooking breakfast for myself. What better way to celebrate us, than to sink our desires into a bowl of hot, sticky upma? So —

Let’s do this right
Let’s do it all.
I’ll get mustard seeds,
Though I’m not so tall.
Yes, I’ll reach for them seeds,
Though I ain’t so tall
And I’ll smile at your face —
For a second, that’s all.
Wha..? How should I know
Black confetti will fall?

The kitchen, the crannies,
Even the children’s shoes —
Seeds all over, down under,
Cleaning’s no bleddy use.
Monday, please leave!
Leave me betrayed n’ bruised.
Monday, I should’ve known
All love turns to abuse.

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