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,