Mondays don't mean anything

Yanked from a lustful slumber
and hurled into being.
Under dawns command
the suns sneaked up
and flushed my
curtains with it's light
without any permission,
an infringement clearly.
My minds screaming obsenities
as blue cigarette smoke
swirls around my fingers
and Ive got toast crumbs and
butter all down my dressing-gown.

Monday has reclaimed my freedom
it's seized the town, it's women,
it's banter, it's beer pumps,
and hurled my sorry skinny a*s
into a train vestibule,
to observe I suppose
the carriages egg-
shelled sensitivity
being pained by delays,
drizzle and small talk.

Monday has seized the moment
captured the times, drained my courage,
dispersed my purpose, drowned my reason.
The blossoms on the willow trees
have withered, and shrunk with fright.
Yet I bet all the ticket inspectors,
parking attendents and headmasters
are taking delight in proceedings, ready
and poised to pounce on any mis-hap.

So too Mondays brings with
it the collapse of justice
and the re-enactment of sods law.
Now for the head on collisions
and the breasts drenched in coffee,
the slap of soles galloping downhill
in the direction of closing doors.
Me I'm trudging away from another
unavailable cash machine, to the
stannic sounds of discarded coins
marvelling at how suddenly static
a fingerless gloved poacher becomes
when the scent of someones bacon blows by
Chist, we're all taking a slash in mondays cruel wind.
 
Their eyes are everywhere, scratched
blotched, convulsing, saturated with age
and as sallow as tea stains.
An obscure dread scuttles
all over my body,
whenever I meet  
them on days like this.