Monday

 There's that time in the city, when it all stops

When the fury of the hour is over

When it looks like the day will relinquish

Its headlock hold, and the penny drops

Then the wind stirs in the trees

The hammer blows continue

Deep rumblings of trucks

Are heard again

Engines start

And drills brrrr into walls

And voices continue to chatter

Like a thread in the stitching of the universe is dropped

And we all stare at the dark matter

Has the creator a synaptic gap

That's a little too far to leap?

Or has he or she simply taken a nap

Had 40 winks or a sleep?

Whatever the answer it's Monday today

And here comes that start the week feeling

I should have washed the sheets over the weekend

I should dusted the walls or ironed the ceiling

But it is a loss I'm afraid my good friend

Time has crept up on us again

There's more to be done under the sun

More of interest that this start the week squealing