Days of the Week Nursery Rhyme

taylor told me not to talk to him while he was in the shower —
“how could I hear you?” he says
so I laid there, obediently,
reading his french homework
thinking about my nanan who was french and had escaped from the nazis,
and not even a minute goes by and taylor sticks his head out of the shower,
the suds a savon body water glisten,
shouting out the words for the days of the week in french,

lundi,” you yell and I give you a kiss for monday,
and you forget the word for tuesday, so “mardi,” i say,
kissing you again, blowing them like a broken dandelion,
“wooohoooh, mercredi and no more homework after this!
and what is the word for thursday, greg?”
And of course I tell him it’s jeudi, of course — bien sur!
and he thinks awhile for vendredi
then samedi comes easy as a french kiss or apple pie —
he washes the football grit from his pits and knees,
as clean as a boy can be on a jeudi eve,
we relax for like ten minutes, then stabbing away at rest of the vocabulary
to absorb into his brain,
planning to have a little something extra for dimanche,
when we can see each other again and ammusez-nous, as they say in french land
bon soir and hope there’s no rain!
bonne nuit, and i know i will see you again

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