half day

I’m holding out for tomorrow,

today,

when my cat will be purrier,

and the clock won’t wail away.

I’ll know it by its feel:

not too fat that it can’t return;

not too light that it can’t leave.

I’ll know that it was pretty good on its own

by its comings and goings:

like a rereading.

and I won’t

feel like

this will be just any,

old,

other,

half day.