Saturday's Man

 

 

Wednesday came into the room.

Her glance at me was sharp and terse.

A look of angry suspicion wore heavily

on her face.

 

I smiled at her, as I always do.

Politely acknowledging her entrance.

I bowed as dictated by protocol and

I took my seat at my desk.

 

She nodded in my direction,

but I could see something was clearly

troubling her. She was obviously not

pleased with me, for some unknown reason.

 

“I hope you have a wonderful day,” I said.

“You too,” she curtly replied.

“Do you have any big plans for the day,” I asked.

I was met with silence as she went about her business.

 

Rebuffed, I sat at my desk.

Unsure of what I could have done to possibly

warrant such a cold reaction to my genuine

sincerity and honest inquiry.

 

I appreciate Wednesday and all her splendor,

she is just not my particularly favorite day.

She can be marvelously witty and wonderful,

but she does not make my heart thump.

 

I know Wednesday is not generally pleased

with this, but I’ve made myself rather clear

on the matter. I enjoy our relationship yet

it is not the one I wish to pursue with any vigor.

 

We can tease and be suggestive,

even be a little raunchy, but it’ll never be the

day for me. I’ll always be Saturday’s Man.

She is for me, the day of days.

 

Saturday’s embrace is gentle and calming,

soothing the coarse bristles of a long week,

she’s sweet, fun, and open to the new and

wild experiences that may present themselves.

 

It’s she whom I yearn for,

and perhaps, in thinking of it,

I can indeed see why Wednesday is

so out of sorts with me.

 

Thursday sneered at me from across

the room, Friday smiled and waved

absently like she does with everyone.

Saturday, typically, hadn’t even bothered to show.

 

The rebel.

I felt the desire in me grow.

She was so dangerous.

So worthy of her pedestal.  

 

Wednesday cleared her throat.

I was brought back from my Saturday

daydreams.

Wednesday started with her list

and I took my notes. Sighing.