Dreary Sunday
The OPEN flag swayed in the wind
A green car passed by again and again
Seagulls hopped on trash across the way
On this overcast and dreary Sunday.
Spills and spots shone on the vinyl table cloth
Sticky rings and remnants that no one wiped off
The country music played far too loud
For the coffee shop’s meager crowd.
It grated on my soul you could say
On this overcast and dreary Sunday.
We used to come here every week
And I’d sit across from her smile
But now I stare out the door
Like a guilty man on trial
Haunted by days gone by
No longer succeeding in denial
Will she ever come back?
Maybe in a while…
The waitress puts my breakfast down
She looks at me and starts to frown
My eggs are cold, the toast is dry
Soon I’m joined by a huge black fly
He sits there on the edge of the plate
I sit here and ponder his fate
Should I just let him fly away
On this overcast and dreary Sunday.
Sundays never seemed so dreary
When I used to have her near me
I never realized the food was bad
It seemed like the best I ever had
But now I come here every week
Hoping that I will get a peek
Of her coming through that door
But something tells me nevermore
Perhaps I should just move away
One overcast and dreary Sunday.
© K. S. Brooks, 2005
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