half vague

you see
them
leaving, scraping ice
off the cars.
coffee cups
set
on the roof tops
as the blue
exhaust
chugs from the tail
pipes.
the briefcases,
the lunch
boxes.
the children
already on the buses.
the dog
walked,
the key under
the mat for a
maid or plumber.
the spaces
emptying, as
everyone drives
off into
their day.
feeling Monday
in their
bones.
half blue, half
vague.