A Sunday Poem

The plants she had planted
Digging holes with shovels
Burning beneath the sun
Dehydrated
Had shriveled and decomposed.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The eggs she had prepared
Fishing for shells
And aiming for sunny-side up
Had made the fire alarms rattle.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The shirt she had purchased
Costing a crisp $100 bill
Had shrunk and deformed in the washing machine
The lingering scent of orange blossom
Was an obnoxious reminder.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The home project she had planned
Developing blueprints
Measuring three times and again
Had turned into a wooden catastrophe.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The photography she had taken
Capturing a single second in time
Of riveting beauty
Revealed a thumb-like smudge in the corner.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The umbrella she used
In thick rainstorms and thunderstorms
Ripped and teared
Making her hair soppy and frizzy.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The train she wanted to board
Arrived at the station
At a time she had misread
The city forgetting her.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The movie she watched at the theater
Failed to impress
No ice was placed in her cup
And the soda was flat.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The water she filled the bathtub with
Cooled too fast
Making her want to run out quickly
And cancel the bubble bath hour.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The haircut her hairdresser chopped
Never spawned a single compliment
Even when she ran her fingers through the strands
Or made it shiny by something in a pretty bottle.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The fortune cookie she cracked open
Multiple moons and memories ago
Never came true
Even though she crossed her fingers so.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The hat, mittens, and scarf
She had knitted for the arriving Autumn
Turned to be too short or too tight.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The boy she had loved
And made her cheeks blush in Queen of Hearts red
Never returned the same feelings
Causing her heart to break and shake
Like earthquake fault lines.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The rainbow she tried to drive toward
Searching for its end
Had disappeared before she was half way there.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The piano song she wanted to play
She used to have memorized by heart and ear
But after so many years
She could hardly recall
Fingers miserably stumbling across the keys.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

The cup of coffee she brewed Sunday morning
Was too bitter for her tongue and throat to tolerate.

But it was ok
Because it was only
Sunday.

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