Something of a Holiday

Having never been informed of my birth
it isn’t the fault of any one

maker of cheap whiskey
that I am usually not fit

to obey the speed limit.
For the same reason

credit can not be given to anyone
who may have created the sun

for my schedule coordinating with the mice
streaking out of the burners.

Some thanks for both, however, I do not hesitate
to pile on those around me,

the friend stumbling awake at 3pm, hair
some sort of totem pole.

Do you have somewhere to be? I ask him
You know It’s something of a holiday.

But his eyes aren’t focused.

Grumbling something to the crease of his elbow
he bumps through to the porch and beyond.

No, this has never been my peoples’ time to shine.