Sunday, Sunday

Sunday, Sunday.
Lee.

Sunday morning is crumpled duvets under chins,
Is curtains closed until dinner,
Is the tv on, not watched,
Is a delivery of McDonald’s McMuffins,
Is dog walker’s walking comfort on a lead,
Is a pilgrimage to the cemetery,
Is church bells pealing, unheeded,
Is hangovers hanging around,
Is cringing at last night’s messages,
Is doing as little as possible without feeling guilty.
Sunday morning, I guess, is me…