DAYS AND WORKS

For a while my dreams were of days
So ordinary as to be easily mistaken
For the ones I'd been living. In them,
I would wake up, eat breakfast
And go to school. There, friends
Spoke untrue but plausible words.
If there were tests, I found the right rooms,
Mostly knew the answers, wasn't naked.
Fridays I would find I had lived
At least nine or ten days since Monday
And had to randomly decide which five
Were real. This was long ago but still
Librarians sometime squint, reluctant
To shelve me with the nonfiction.