MONDAY MORNING

It'll take hours
Take hours for these aches to go,
The struggle getting out of my head
And it feeling like an unmade bed
The knees creak, rusty and slow.
The sky is grey
Grey and miserable, I can't talk,
My mouth the floor of a birdcage
My brain in neutral, can't engage
No instructions on how to walk.
The gait of a zombie
A zombie, rotten yet undead,
Staggering about, arms outstretched
A look in the mirror, nearly retched!
Are those my eyes bloodshot and red?
The radio grates
Grates like steel on my mind,
Its drone in the background
Whilst I'm staggering around
Hunting for the sock I can't find.
Just another Monday
Another awful Monday morning,
Too much beer, oh what a slob!
Nausea sets in, I hate my job
I just can't stop bloody yawning!
Don't you dare
Don't you dare smile or give a wave
Don't talk either as I'll be rude
I need my tea and breakfast food
Can't be arsed to have a shave.
Mind you
Mind you I have to say,
It isn't just Mondays anymore
I'm finding life a grind and a chore
I'm the same now, every bleedin' day!
Phil Hall  May 2014