Monday, the day for a trip to the gym
How is it possible I don’t get slim?
Tuesday, six-thirty, I’m off to line dancing
A grapevine, a cha-cha, a bit of of fine prancing
Then Wednesday eve, our class for zumba
I’m so-so at salsa, more shaky on rumba
Thursdays I walk to my office from home
It’s there that I fail to write a new poem
Friday at five I have wine with a friend
I uncork the bottle, we sip till the end
Saturday it’s time for the Musee de Art
A pleasing respite for the mind and the heart
Sunday, some football or hoops on TV
Then Masterpiece Theater for Katja and me
That, in a nutshell, is my normal week
A few parts are boring, but most are tres chic
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