this poem is not about you
it's about a feeling
from a jacques brel
lyric on the downfall of a beautiful sunday

it can't be about you
it's about a chance
for a white picket fence
around a sunday home-cooked meal

not you in the curves
of a ceiling stain
above my bed, beyond my pain
an optimistic sunday yawn

would never be you
in a poem like this
eagerly willing to confess
in the wake of sunday's passing

it just couldn't be about you
with its wild open doors
its dirty carpeted floors
and its worn paths around deserted intentions