Surely the work ethic was born on Monday, while I dreamed of water color and stood in workshoes.

Sis and Alec came home from school

in need of proofs and solutions.

Thursday was restless and penniless,

so I cleaned brushes and fretted.

I agreed to chauffeur Sis to the dance:

pleasant empathy for the day's end.

Time is greedy and I am extravagant.

Cyclonic winds of paper, stamps, and checks

descend on Friday.

Sis tries dance steps,

enveloped in childhood for yet

a few impatient hours.

Alec looks on in wonder.

This too is a new canvas.

Sunday: Why not kamikaze?

Headstrong, headlong lunge at the soul.

After its sermon the colors of rest

and laughter and the future are apropos.

The artist is alive,

with child.

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