Zahava Fischer

Those Damn Sundays.

Those damn Sundays
Raise your head.
Lift your chin.
There are questions to be asked.
We count our merchandise like peddlars:
Sisters, mothers, husbands.
Whom did we sleep with,
Whom did we think we were sleeping with.
On whom did we cast a stone.
Then a touch of senility
The blessed art of forgetting.
On Mondays nothing actually happened

Poem Submitted: Friday, February 24, 2006

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Comments about Those Damn Sundays. by Zahava Fischer

  • Hazem Al JaberHazem Al Jaber (2/26/2006 5:01:00 AM)

    waw..
    its seems you don`t like that damn sundays..
    will hope your days are been monday...

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