Solitary Sundays

 

 

You used to work on Sundays,

Not all of them,

Just some.

 

I would enjoy the freedom,

of these quiet hours,

At home.

 

Knowing later you would

Join me and we’d get the

dinner on,

 

Talk about our day,

And I’d tell you

What I’d done.

 

But now I have no partner,

Every Sunday,

I’m alone.

 

No one to pour a stiff drink,

When I’ve mother

On the phone.

 

And the day seems to

Stretch ahead,

Of solitary hours.

 

I’ll have a bath, read a book,

The day’s my own,

Not ours.

 

I’ve done this for a year now,

And I think I’ve served

my time.

 

I’m going to do things different,

With the hours that

Are mine.

 

Most people are with partners

Or doing family

Things.

 

So I’ll push out on my own,

And see what roaming

Brings.

 

A day at a museum,

Or a theatre

Matinee.

 

It doesn’t really mater,

That the ticket’s just,

For me.

 

I want to kick the habit,

That to have

a social life

 

I need to be a girlfriend,

Or a beloved

Wife.

 

The days of solitary Sunday,

Are over now

For me

 

I’ve finally got my confidence,

To go solo and

Be free.

copyright@dellareynolds2017