Writing Poetry by Nicole Barth [6/19/18]

It's Monday morning.

We plead exhaustion;
cocooning ourselves
and shifting the blinds;

Laments that slip out of
our mouths in extended yawns.

So
we prolong it with a stretch,
lengthen our limbs;

So much effort,
it seems,
to let the words
roll out of bed.

Except
for sometimes,
the words drip
like Sunday morning.