Mundane Fry Day

Hands releasing a white dove into the sky

Hope springs eternal…

WayneSL  1989

On Moonday
I hatch visions like doves
and throw them soaring to the sky
cloudwisp wings on pale wide blue

By Fryday
blue has sunk to rust and gray
the clouds have clumped like unginned cotton
and tumble down to roost around me
lumpy owl-eyed hens accusing
constipated with rotting eggs.