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This is called "Against Whatever
It Is That's Encroaching."

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And it's a poem about Thursday.

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And today, I think it's Thursday
unless I'm completely wrong.

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So it does seem very
appropriate, right?

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And on Thursday, one should read
poems about Thursdays, right?

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"Against Whatever It
Is That's Encroaching."

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"Best of all is to be idle,
and especially on a Thursday,

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and to sip wine while studying
the light, the way it ages,

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yellows, turns ashen, and
then hesitates forever

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on the threshold of
the night that could

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be bringing the first frost.

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It's good to have a
woman around just then,

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and two is even better.

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Let them whisper to each other
and eye you with a smirk.

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Let them roll up their sleeves
and unbutton their shirts

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a bit as this fine
old twilight deserves.

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And the small schoolboy
who has come home

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to a room almost dark and
now watches wide-eyed.

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The grownups raise
their glasses to him.

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The giddy-headed, red-haired
woman with eyes tightly

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shut as if she were
about to cry or sing.

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