They say it’s God’s day.
So what do we do? Make a wish?
break an old heavy habit?
take sides of countries in the comments section?
promise to floss our teeth?
inhale the sulfur of insult on a lone road?
shake December hard to shed all leaves?
bury ourselves 10 feet below to
know how it feels to be dead?
It’s Sunday, gentlemen and ladies and all
we should have expected nothing
than a rainbow every Sunday
nothing less than meeting an unknown,
kind stranger on Sunday
nothing less than life to be labelled as
Hell and Heaven as one
nothing less than the lead of a
pencil refusing to omit
nothing less than the inflicted pain
on bruised knees and not by wars
nothing less than finding peace in this chaos.