Hallelujah, it’s nobody’s birthday!
Nobody’s wedding and nobody’s wake!
For once the glib calendar’s dumb.
These brave hours have sloughed off their date.
No unions are striking, no voters are polled,
though if anything dawn has come early.
While the coffee is yet to be ground,
our displeasures dissolve prematurely.
We’re a people with bleachers to get to,
outlets to enter, entrees to eat,
but this morning it’s clear to anyone:
nothing’s planned and there’s nowhere to be.
If the wind at the backs of our minds is persuasive,
still, each destination feels wrong.
We wander outside in pajamas
to stand at the edge of our lawns.
Hallelujah, that here on mortality’s turf
the daily’s been soundly defeated!
The diaries are shredded inside us.
The dockets have balked and retreated.
Any vows we have made to each other
melt away in our mouths like confections
and at once they’re replaced by the knowledge
that at last we’re immune to deception.
The day picks up its skirts with its eyes closed,
eventful, though nothing will count.
I hear fireworks rebound one street over.
The de Whitts, in their front yard, make out.
As local balloonists are coasting their baskets
to rest in the neighborhood park
our children eject from the tire swings
and slowly tear heaven apart.
Even when dusk sizzles through the azaleas
the day feels unwilling to end.
Stars flicker back out in the cypress.
The moon seems inclined to descend.
Hallelujah, the networks have cancelled the news
with no scandals, invasions, or earthquakes!
What’s next we’ll discover in time,
when eternity turns into Thursday.
“Yestermorrow” first appeared in Poetry Northwest, vol. 12, no. 1, 2017.