I am just a calendar
Nailed to this wall,
Pinioned and prone,
As day after day,
Time marks it’s captive,
And I mark time.

One square the same as the next
But for the notations of the holidays
And anniversaries
Engraved upon me,
Indelibly,
For remembrance,
For love,
For you.

Waiting, waiting,
Inanimate,
As the days stretch,
In a tedium of torment
Before being ticked off
In used monotony.
X

X

X

X
A finished month, pinned up
Flush
Against the last
The past.
Not moving fast enough
To it’s end.

Until the days spent,
The days observed,
Faithfully,
Are all eaten up,
And time moves on
Without care or pause.

The calendar,
Useless and used,
Obsolete,
Is released from the wall,
And its heavy burden,
Ended and purposeless,

To be tossed away.