One of a Kind, Would Have Been Today


Had I not turned this sweater
Inside-out
My Sunday
Would have been one of a kind.
Profuse sweating,
Pale skin
And an oven-hot body–
A spice in this furnace-hot weather.

And so I saw him
Then we began hide-and-seek.
Maybe he knew
That I wanted his photo
So he kept manoeuvering
In between the folds
And through the tunnel
Of the sleeves.

He's now missing.
Fifth round now
Turning my sweater
Inside-out
And then back to normal.
I saw a hen peck something
On the floor.
Maybe it was him
Who'd become her Sunday breakfast.

This Sunday
Would have been a river of sweat
A free and rare ride
Toward where medics dwell.
I would've been bed-ridden
Lying on coals of hell.
This Sunday
Would've been one of a kind.

© Sea-Crab Poetry.

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