Sunday

Sunday, even though Sunday is a weekend day,

it no longer carries any special meaning to me.

Retired, no work to attend tomorrow, my

day of rest is strapped to me 7-days a week.

Sunday, no longer the Lord’s Day. My belief

in the glory and omniscience of a deity belong

to the Cosmic Conglomerate these days. My

daily prayers serve as a recall reminder of the

deceased and those around the world in need.

Sunday as with every other day, 24-hours

graced with pleasure and pain, no need to

explain, everyday life on the Planet is just

that way.

Sunday, I wait and soon enough Monday

without fanfare to usher in the change,

invades the same space, and here I am

again writing something down I need

to say.

I go on, so far a seventy-three year stretch,

day after day. And one day for me, no more

Sundays worthy of recognition by number,

designation or name.

Sunday, a one in seven chance I shall pass

on that day. Sunday, one more for the books.

Sunday, a holy day? No more than any other.

Sunday, who’s counting anyway?

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 5-3-2020