Poem of the Month

An Ode to Wednesday by Graham Bruce Fletcher

Odin, Woden, Wotan; your day is coming forth –

Between Tiu, who probably started a war to come third after the Sun and the Moon,

And noisy Thor who probably came fifth because he rode bareback which made Thor sore.

But you, Odin, are worthy of many odes, being the god of poets

And the one eye love; the wise full-bearded magician of midweek

So placed to keep you a safe distance from Christians every Sunday

I bet Tolkein was thinking of you when skiving and dreaming up Gandalf

In the Bird and Baby, to parry the thrust of CS Lewis’ self-righteous Tuesdays

Which, I have an inkling, is enough to make anyone maudlin.

Anyone can have it off at the weekend, but Wednesday has been the hinge:

The day of half day closing, many charter-markets, and football in Sheffield

And indisputably the day of great literary achievements Somewhere Else. 

So, Odin your runes have sanctified my Wednesdays

And no woe has visited this Monday’s Child, even with sackcloth and ashes

So I offer this ode in apology for the misdeeds of Christians, and the French.

How dare they name your day after Mercury?