Only Wednesday Poem by rebecca palmer

Its still only Wednesday;
There are hours of heat in the house,
the air above my radiator,
Is quivering like sun over sand.
Drying me out.
Those cheap net blinds, I see them froth and flirt
By the train track, another bunch of
girls flashing their Friday night panties on the tabletop.
Picking out words with this chipped biro
Clamped and cracked between my front teeth.
My legs twist like pipe cleaners to shift the electricity from them.
I’ve been here hours now.
I checked again,
It’s officially still only Wednesday.