boredom and the Sunday beach

everyday seems to be a Saturday
today and yesterday and now
they all have the same faces and colors
and manner of greeting me hello

and when they all say goodbye
i do not really notice when
as though my wrist
watch is broken and needing repair

i only know that it is a Sunday
when we go to the faraway beach
when you wear your orange bikini
and you kick the ball
when you fall on the sand
and you giggle and when you pull me
to take the plunge in the calm, blue sea
when you are with me breathlessly

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!