Monday, September 9, 2013

THE LAST MONDAY







 

One year ago, today, was the last Monday.         Their very last Monday.           The last Monday back to work after the weekend.         The last lunch with friends.           The last time to fill up the car.         The last headache over a deadline.           The last glance at the work clock ticking to five.         The last chore of washing everyone’s coffee cup.           The last project to put off until tomorrow.         The last trash to empty.           The last toilet paper holders to be refilled.         The last ink stain on the best shirt.           The last cocktail party to beg off.         The last time to set the answering machine.           The last mop buckets to fill up.         The last flour to dump into the bin.           The last leftovers to bring home.         The last view of the September sun reflecting from the highest windows at the top of the city.           The last paper to add to the copier.         The last sound of cola cans rolling into place to fill the drink machines.           The last call home to see what’s for supper.         The last shirts to pick up at the cleaners.           The last light switch turned off.         The last turn of the key to lock the office.           The last package of gum to pick up at the newsstand.         The last drink at a bar to avoid going home.          The last steps descending the subway stairs.         The last routine night at the station.    

 

The last cuss at afternoon traffic.         The last excitement over a date for dinner.           The last wait in the grocery line.         The last delivery of quick pizza.           The last evening news worrying about the world.         The last empty home to come home to.           The last night for Monday Night Football.         The last bills to be opened.           The last night to put on something comfy to cook dinner.         The last cork to fly out of range.           The last night to call a mother.         The last shouts of glee from welcoming families.           The last battle over homework.         The last detergent to run out of.           The last instruction to a youngster learning to set the table.         The last sink full of dirty dishes.           The last bed to jump on.         The last clothes to pick up off the chair.           The last briefcase bulging with a few hours work after dinner.         The last laughs over vacation pictures.           The last bag zipped  and ready to go.         The last evening prayers.           The last “no” to another glass of water.         The last sigh to finally sit down.           The last harsh words over nothing at all.         The last call to a girlfriend.           The last nightcap.         The last check of sleeping children.           The last kiss goodnight.         The last eyes to close, in slumber.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
This was written on the one year anniversary of September 11.
 

 

 

 

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