On Wednesday

That old sun can’t seem

To catch hold for more

Than one day in a row,

But we’re still hoping.

Old Mrs. J. came in, said

Her bones were aching,

A change in weather is

Coming, but she didn’t

Know when. Told me

About an old man she

Once knew on Maple,

His staple was booze

In his brew every

Morning, seemed to aid

His pain but she didn’t

Like anything in her

Coffee except a shot of milk.

The old lady with the

Scooter, the big gal,

She’s not coming back,

Kidneys are failing, she’s

In rough shape, tough

Sleeping last night

Thinking about that.

I think I’ll have some

 Toast with my Colombian

This morning, don’t

Forget to buy a ticket,

She smiled, the jackpot

Is sixteen million on

Wednesday.

Stephen Nesbitt ©