Fireworks in June.

Sometimes I feel like Saturday's child,
Waking to Monday’s attitude;
Trapped in deserts with Africa's wild,
Following the October full-moon.

Then days I dream like Tuesday's hopes,
Until I stumble back on Wednesday's hump;
And fall down Canadian slopes,
Watching sunlight in August slump―

\ but I'm not like this all the time \

I can easily wipe away Sunday's mourn,
After feeling the joy of Friday's breeze;
Surviving off American bread and corn,
Amazed at fireworks in June we receive?

Tired like commutes on Thursday’s sunrises,
Afraid like islanders after volcanic roars;
Atlantic tropics with hurricane surprises,
Covered in snow at December's doors―

\ but I'm not like this all the time \

If seasons and days ever turn their tide,
And permit Earth's quake to finally shake;
Unfastening screws for insecurities to collide,
Allowing realities to differentiate.

Exposing fine print we’ve all tried to default,
And repercussions we mirror & stare;
Correcting falsities before enemies aim to exalt,
Hoping loose screws won't show through my hair―

\ but I'm not like this all the time \ I'm really not

Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyright © 2004