Monday Blues
Listen to Piu DasGupta reading her poem.
Like a sagging homework bag
or chewing gum squashed beneath a shoe
like cardboard chips that make you gag
or fronted adverbials marching two-by-two.
Like ink-splattered, mouldy pages of Macbeth
or cloakrooms smelling of unwashed socks
like prawn cocktail crisps on my neighbour’s breath
and the long, slow tick of the classroom clock.
Like grey rain drizzling down the windowpane
or the shrill whistle of the electric bell
like the drills boring gaping holes in my brain
as I flounder in trigonometric hell.
Such are my thoughts as I push through the queues
at the bus-stop, the beat of the Monday blues.
or chewing gum squashed beneath a shoe
like cardboard chips that make you gag
or fronted adverbials marching two-by-two.
Like ink-splattered, mouldy pages of Macbeth
or cloakrooms smelling of unwashed socks
like prawn cocktail crisps on my neighbour’s breath
and the long, slow tick of the classroom clock.
Like grey rain drizzling down the windowpane
or the shrill whistle of the electric bell
like the drills boring gaping holes in my brain
as I flounder in trigonometric hell.
Such are my thoughts as I push through the queues
at the bus-stop, the beat of the Monday blues.
This poem is copyright (©) Piu DasGupta 2024
About the Writer
Piu DasGupta
Piu is a British/Indian/French writer living in Paris, France. She has written and published adult books and is currently working on a children's novel. She writes both adult and children's poetry and her children's poetry has been published in magazines such as The Caterpillar and Northern Gravy.
