New Monday Grey

You know each sharp upright
perverts nature. Although, brilliantly
in new Monday grey.
Your new shoes, your winter coat;
all new but not quite there.
There’s a work van idling,
half beams lazy on the road
-- he doesn't look stressed yet,
sucking on another roll-up.
I cannot dig my fingers into concrete
and feel its innards.
If a single truth undermined this fallacy --
you could walk out that door
and pick up anywhere,
the alarm left screaming at five-fifteen.
A fox catches it’s ears on me
–we’re both curious and afraid--
sun sticks to the underside of granite cloud.

This is your only chance to get out.

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