Today

It’s a shame today isn’t a person,

then I could ask it

why it was being such an insufferable arsehole,

such a dick, such a total and utter twat.

 

‘I’m not just a list of slightly taboo body parts,

you know,’ it might reply.

‘Fuck off, you ingrowing toenail,’

would be the start of my retort.

 

‘You receding hairline; you beer gut overhang;

you slightly too long and crooked nose;

you troublesome, arthritic knee.’

 

But the day would just sit there,

with its clear blue sky, its bright November sun,

and its slightly above average temperature

for this time of year.

 

As I took a break from insulting the day,

I would look out of the window

to follow the flight of a crow

as it disappeared into the branches of a tree.

 

‘Are you going to continue your list?’

it would ask, ‘Because I have better things to do.’

I would let the day know that it had nothing to do

as it was just a day; a mere abstract noun.

 

‘Poets who live in glass houses

shouldn’t throw stones,’ it would reply,

before saying something really profound

which rather undermined the force of my tirade.

 

But, as I’m the one with the pencil and the notebook,

I wouldn’t write it down, and what does today have,

apart from the upper hand

and a rapidly decreasing lifespan?

 

After spending every hour not getting along

with the day, I finally arrived at tomorrow.

It’s a better day than yesterday, even with all of the grey,

and the cold, and the threat of rain.

 

‘You see?’ the day would have said,

‘It was you all along,’ and I realise that, maybe,

we could have been friends after all.