It's Monday
I open the back door,
Push the screen door open.
It closes behind me with a slam!
I have escaped to the back yard.
The air is crisp and clean this morning,
Like the first bite of a McIntosh apple,
Raising bumps on my skin.
I wrap my arms around myself for warmth,
Inhaling my lungs full.
My bare toes voicing rebellion,
outside,
uncovered,
they seek the warmth of the kitchen.
My hammock beckons,
I almost surrender.
BUT
It's Monday
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