Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Every Friday

it’s been a long time
that time has turned on me
but once,
I did my public duty
by zipping along the week
in my trench-coat and stilettos
so sane, so well-adjusted, so boring

despite the blister on my big toe
and the pounding ache over the left eye
for I was laden in the work lagoon
with opaque options and oversights,
balancing on log-rafts of pretexts

now, a blurred memory
my battery-power fizzing out
fluttering
with a last gasp of air
on murky waters
like a Common Moorhen…

the way I dismantled myself
every Friday

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Prompt: a day of the week