The wine of uncharted days,

Their unsteady stance against the working world,

 

The intense intoxication of nothing to be done,

A day off,

 

The dance of the big-hearted dog

In us, freed into a sudden green, an immense field:

 

Off we go, more run than care, more dance-

If a polka could be done not in a room but straight

 

Ahead, into the beautiful distance, the booming

Sound of the phonograph weakening, but our legs

 

Getting stronger with their bounding practice:

This day, that feeling, drunkenness

 

Born of indecision, lack of focus, but everything

Forgiven: Today is a day exposed for what it is,

 

A workday suddenly turned over on its back,

Hoping to be rubbed.