A poem

At the death

Of Catharsis

It that marked the satisfaction

And release

Of gnashed teeth

And It, the only one

That died unfulfilled.

The speaker at the Eulogy

Was Tuesday

Clean-cut, well-respected

The day before the hump

When the weekend mentality officially ended

And everyone knew

It was time to work.

And Tuesday, he said this It,

Catharsis,

Was unknown to him, personally

(Protests rose here-

It had been to his place

Once or twice

And Tuesday conceded

That Catharsis always brought the Beer

When it showed up)

But that,

Really,

No man knew Catharsis

For long

Though each welcomed It as a friend.

The bitter and resigned

Wanted to bury Catharsis,

Give it a big grey headstone

To mark Its passing from their lives.

So they could revisit It, they said,

And recapture Its memory

Forever.

Friday tossed in a match.

The smoke cloud

Was a column

A hundred and fifty

Feet high.

Saturday

Had loaded the casket.

“Let’s face it,” said Friday.

“It would have wanted to go out with a bang.”