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Tuesday Day

Trash comes on Tuesday but it isn’t Tuesday because yesterday everyone was in the limbo of not being where they usually were. The day was extra, like the stashed days left over from when the Pope moved the world to the new calendar, all broad and unmoving and like every other day but different and extra-possible.

At dinner, the kids seem just as happy as they always are, or just as adolescently sullen. Does school start tomorrow? Or does the sailing ship head out for the new world? The elephants cross the Alps? 65 miles per hour at 5 o’clock on the 405 is unworldly.

When does school start? When does school end? Where did trash on Wednesday go, standing in band hall, wondering where the people came from and where they go? Is it all a dream or do I have a test tomorrow?

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