Today feels weird.
As if the sun was frowning down upon me,
In grave disagreement.
As if the clouds had become erratic,
Hurrying along for undecided endeavours,
Or lying in slothful heaps,
Hurling misty accusations at one another.
As if the kids in the park,
Had secretly decided to make me the goalpost and the wicket.
As if the pigeons finally cooed their thrilled vengeance and delighted in aiming the shit.
As if the dogs at night,
Threw baleful cries into the dark,
Urging a zeitgeist unwilling to come.