wednesday here and now it is five a.m.

miércoles at the bodega unloading today

off of trucks with motors running and loud

men have no idea that this

cuarta-feira i can sleep in until i feel obliged

            to rise to a voice who proclaims this is

            brick city and savor wednesday is the section

                        of the paper from which i can almost see

                        the weekend over the columns and recipes

i am happy that we are making our own

day for poets, a holiday, and sending a wish-

you-were-here.

in newark, in gaoth dobhair

at the cliffs of moher where it has been

de céadaoin for five hours and geography rolls

over us like a wave