Best of Regrets

Sunday night motorway speaker hiss Running-out on its responsibilities From kissing strange boys the night before Driving yourself out of town to a nowhere-in-particular all-aloneness Used to be the day for visiting a Grandmother or, two if you were lucky over on the shore Gathering up speed for the next week Cigar smoke still in your hair Smell of benzoin resin’s cough syrup flashback to other child-spent stormy Sundays Now, the weather’s just a projection of the cocktail in your head One part guilt, one part headache two parts dehydration all stirred up with tiredness and more than a heavy handed dash of regret for the Sabbath not yet blackened just a light Holy-grey “Doesn’t suit all figures, Madam” only those with restraint No time for sleep-ins, catnaps, confession or gift hamper goodies Dutiful passivity Dosed up on scripts worse for wear remedies to dress you up and get you through Sunday’s overcast best grey to blues