Near every minute yesterday, it seemed
I had to navigate an endless hill
with leaden legs, on avenues that teemed
with fellows who looked hungry, sad or ill.
The sun shone golden warm and strewed more light
than it had given all the weekend past,
but I was not receptive to the sight;
I cloaked my view in murky overcast.
For angry disappointment held my arms
and pushing me, it acted as support,
while bitchiness embellished me like charms
and egged me on and made fatigue retort:
Till I precipitated my debris
and took a bath, and there uncovered me.