The Man Who Was Thursday By Christopher McCurry

fell in love
with a girl
who was Saturday.
She fell in love
with his falling
in love with her
Saturday boobs and her
Saturday laugh and her
Saturday way of not caring
that he was Thursday
because she liked
for the moment
his Thursday glasses and
his Thursday bedtime and
his Thursday-sized salary
that he spent on her
until she almost loved
Thursdays. That and
he was so nearly Friday
that sometimes she would
forget that he would never
have cocky certainty
or casual wear
or pizza nights,
and sometimes he would
forget, too, and they
were happiest then.