Some days are just hard
so much so that at the end
I just want to write about them.
To write through my fret, the things
that fraught me through the day.
But really, I don’t want to Etch
those words into a page that
I’ll look back and read only
to think, what was I thinking?
I’d rather not write about it.
In the end, in the long run, the haul,

it’s nothing.
Often, I don’t even know why the day was hard.