This Poem Doesn't Know How to Tell a Lie
Of course it's Tuesday.
Except when it's Tuesday—
Then, it could be any other day of the week.
I'm only saying this because what follows Tuesday is another Tuesday,
And so on, until eternity ends, a succession of Tuesdays, succeeded by the end of eternity.
That will happen on a Wednesday, because, of course, Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Not bones and blood and guts and good intentions, rather, empty of all that is not woe.
Woe was a child, not a cockatiel she once knew who belied his name by acting chipper.
Child of woe met bird of cheer and thought, Just once, can this be a bird who won't bite?
Of course Woe did.