Tuesday sinks into my skin,
and I sigh in relief for another day gone.
Its ghost hovers near my back for a moment,
before I breathe out the stress of its name.
You can recite a name over and over,
and hope it doesn’t haunt you,
but Tuesday returns every week.
She dangles the day off her fingers
and swings it back and forth in front of me.
Each swing another second gone,
and I know I should feel relief with every lost second,
but it makes me feel trapped in a life of closing walls
and missed phone calls.
I recite her name every Tuesday over and over,
and hope she forgets where I live the next week.
Poetic Trials 