Reader Poetry: A Month of Sundays

Poetry

A Month of Sundays
By Lisa Blunt Rochester

Wouldn’t you like
a month
of Sundays?

Just to listen
to Mozart or Monk;
a little jazz or funk.

Or hear cats doggiin’ dogs
and flies flirtin’ wid frogs.

How about a month
of Sundays?

Layin’ on dewey grass
messin’ up your perm.
Layin’ in his arms
catchin’ a little ssssp…you know what I mean.

Yeahhhh, a month
of Sundays.

No boss to break your stride
or take your pride.
No water cooler gossip
to trip your lips.
Or attitudy snooty people goin’ on trips.

Wow — a month
of Sundays.

Shoutin’ and singin’
in church.
Praisin’ the only One
who wouldn’t leave
you in a lurch.

Buyin’ one ticket to the movies
but stayin’ all day;
knowin’ it’s a month
of Sundays
and not stressin’ bout Monday.

Jack playin’, double dutchin’,
hangin’ wit the kids.

Not really doin’ nuttin’.

Just chillin’…

In a month of Sundays.

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