shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Victoria Bongiorno

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Monday is almost perpendicular
to Sunday,
and it drains me just to climb on board.
I slip on Tuesday and struggle for grip,
and I'm back on track with a bloody knee.
Wednesday is sloped with hope and sweat
that glistens on my knuckles.
I pull myself up through Thursday,
scrape my collarbone on the edges of Friday,
and finally I can rest back and breathe and admire
my victory.
But not even Saturday and Sunday are flat,
and there's no such thing as "downhill from here."
My hipbone bites my skin and my elbow knocks my ribs,
and I reach my tired muscles up to Monday,
because I'm not allowed to stop.