Tuesdays are slipping out of my grasp
Tuesday used to wear
a suit, dark blue or brown,
and wore his hair
in a parting on the left.
That is the male Tuesday, of course.
wore dresses that left their ankles
and had their hair curled
and styled in formal shapes.
Naturally things have changed.
mostly wear jeans
and informal shirts,
and have a haircut
that, to me, looks bizarre.
tend to wear tight jean-like trousers,
tops of varying puzzling designs,
and sometimes clean-shaved heads.
It is with these later Tuesdays
that I now have to deal with.
The last time I had a conversation
with one of the Tuesdays,
she spoke in a rapid flow of words,
spilling out in a seemingly endless
rhyming type of juvenile stream-of-consciousnes.
I was speechless.
Not that the old Tuesdays
were all that communicative.
They often spoke in stilted sentences
and used esoteric words designed
to hide their lack of meaning.
The truth is
that I can get very little sense
out of Tuesdays nowadays.
Did I get any sense out of the old Tuesdays?
I think so, but it may be an illusion.
So here is my strategy:
In conversations with my Tuesdays,
I will nod when it seems appropriate.
I will wait until Tuesday’s working hours are past,
and I will look forward to meeting Wednesday.
Surely Wednesday will be better?