Particular Monday

What a miserable day-
the kind of day that guarantees
laundry gets done.
The sky is pale white
as if God forgot to vacuum.
It hangs inches above each building
pressing like wet cotton.

The kind of day that makes
sex, even fevered adultery
in seventies hotel rooms, feel rehearsed.

Some raindrops cling to speeding
cars. Others ricochet
off the sidewalk, stinging ankles

The kind of rain that
falls in fat drops
each containing a tear of God.