Still Have the Weekend

I can still count
on two hands
how many times this week
we splintered the
pride between the counter
clockwise gears of
getting through
another day,
another month, closing
out the year.

love, I’m always here
trying to wake you like the
American Dream,
trying to imagine it
dressed in
t-shirts and
blue jeans;

I’m still here,
maybe not nine to five but Friday
I’m yours to indiscriminately spend,
a bank account that
could go into red and keep
dispensing twenties.

If we
work for a living why do
we kill ourselves working, just like
if love’s in the best interest,
why’s it take a killing spree of
indifference to preferably
place it first?

On my calendar of worth,
you’re the Sunday afternoon,
and I’ll work these hands down
to bone
because darling,
you are the middle class
in minimum wage, winning scratch
ticket I will
never trade.

Let me get that
button one
more time.


2 thoughts on “Still Have the Weekend

  1. Sounds like, you’re, getting trapped by the blandness of waking up, going to your nine-to-five, coming home, eat, fall asleep, then waking up, just to repeat that same boring cycle all over again, sounds like, you’re ready for a change in your ordinary routine…


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