Always on Sunday
I feed my baby eggs in bed,
he has me for dessert.
We read the funnies in front of the fan
and spend the day inert.
There are days more productive
when things really do get done,
but Sundays are seductive.
Yeah, Sundays are for fun.
We pull the phone loose from the wall,
throw the front page out,
tell the Jehovahs to take a hike
the neighbors not to shout.
Most days you make arrangements.
Some days you scheme and plan.
These things create estrangements
between a woman and her man.
So, forget the doctor's sage advice.
Feast on romance's extravagances
and, happy Sundays all.
by Tracy Koretsky
Read more Parody
Available in print
If you printed out even half the stuff Tracy Koretsky has written, dumped it into a big net strung out across the ceiling, stood beneath, then let it drop, you would suffocate. Pile up the stuff that has been published and stand on top of it and you could probably reach the cookie jar on the uppermost shelf. Alas. Still, more than anything, Tracy loves to be read. Help yourself to audio poems and chapters, author interviews, and a download of her memoir in poems. www.TracyKoretsky.com