Routine

by Rachel Hoffman

It's Friday
And the clock strikes noon
What can he expect?
Lunch should be soon
Or maybe not
Maybe he should expect
a rip
or a tear
or a scratch
or a glare
or a shout down the hall
maybe he should expect them all
because whether its
Monday
or Tuesday
everyday is a
Newday
for someone to tell him
He's not enough
And its tough
Because Monday through Thursday
Its a daily routine
To be called a name
to be hit
or to scream
And come Friday
There's no life in his eyes
Because the life he had left
was murdered inside
his chest
behind the ribs
and through the mess
the people he loved
took all the rest
of the life
the love
the joy
the peace
none of it they
let him keep
So maybe its only
Friday
But then it's
Saturday
and before they know it, it's
Sunday
And Sunday is the day
That they iron their shirts
And put on their masks
because
Sunday
is the day that
all sins are washed away
Right?
Wrong.
Because it maybe
Sunday
and that's the day
that we worship
laugh and
sing
but once Sunday's over
once the sun is lower
and the hands of the clock
strike 12
He's back to
Monday
and every other day
of the week
the month
the year
when worthless
pitiful
disgrace
and fagot
are common words to hear.
So we can go to church
and sing our songs
and laugh with all our friends
but the way we talk
and the way we walk
and the way that we degrade
is affecting hearts
Monday through Sunday
Each
And
Every
Day