Half a Holiday
An email warning
Marathon Monday
is not a national holiday.
As if they've never confessed
the thrill of an empty hallway
while people peddle
for a plot to give props
to the human blur,
a high five from the freeway.
Is this what my father lived for,
an excuse to go in his office,
pilfering any pause
from a daughter's boyfriend
proving police raids,
a son blindly extending
poems like pencils.
Even a bomb could not
provke deluge
on annoying picnics,
more waiters working at
fish and chips with a dash
before the check.
Holidays exposed
the willing workers
walking aside bodies
not on them
ask a moment of silence
and nothing else.
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