No Such Thing as Even Days 

Every slice of frozen time
Held up to the examining light
Hold your place in it
With a wrinkling index finger
And crooked boned
While you squint
One point on a line
Maybe long if it’s that way
The short light sleeves of summer colors here
Heavy coats restrict and slick winter gloves there
All the many moments of spring and fall
Chopped up fine or maybe not so
In between each other packed
Time can be
Speaking generally
One mostly mean mother
If you live long enough
To think about every instant