THERE’S A NAME

There’s a name for the day
when you neck feels like six feet
of bad extension cord
and the brakes on your car
are like stepping in spring mud
and you have to sit around all day waiting for the telephone to ring
which it does–
ONCE–
and it’s not even for you.

There’s a name for the day
when the foodstuff you crave most
is a quesadilla stuffed with queso fresco
and Advil
and you sincerely wish you had an allergy attack
so you could take two Benadryl
and resign from consciousness until the morning.

There’s a name for the day when you feel your worst
but need to be at your best
and no matter what happens
your worst is all that comes out of you.

There’s a name for the day
when you can’t remember how to finger an E-minor chord on your guitar
which may be the easiest flippin’ chord of all of them
but there you are
right in the middle of singing a song
and you call up “E-minor” in your brain
but all you hear back is “DUHHH.”

There’s a name for the day
when you think all the diurnal misery has come to an end
and you’re only half a mile from home
when you suddenly spot
one of your parishioners
standing outside her vehicle
and standing over the world’s most recent ex-deer.

There’s a name for the day when all that stuff happens, my friends
and that name is
“Wednesday”
and I swear it happens every dang week.