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Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a Monday |
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with freezing rains melting and no trains running |
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and sad eyes passing in windows flimsy |
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and my seat rocking from legs not quite matching |
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Got passport, credit cards, a plane that I'm catching |
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Black Sunday falls one day too soon |
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The taxi that takes me will be moving so quickly |
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My suitcases simply too full for the closing |
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of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry |
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Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random --- |
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no sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them |
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Black Sunday falls one day too soon |
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And down at the airport are probably waiting |
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a few thousand passengers, overbooked seating |
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Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas --- |
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connections broken and Special Branch watching |
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conspicuously standing in holiday clothing |
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Black Sunday falls one day too soon |
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Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy |
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Down to the gate with the old mood upon me |
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Get out and chase the small immortality |
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born in the minute of my next returning |
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Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning |
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Homecoming one day too soon |
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And back at the house there's a grey sky a-tumbling |
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Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling |
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Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing |
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Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving |
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Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving |
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...one day too soon |
