The week

Wednesday is three pegs of whiskey, neat,
Because it gets you just the right amount of drunk to wake you up for office tomorrow on time,
While Monday, Monday is definitely a hangover you’re fighting for atleast half of the day.
If the days of the week were people,
I believe Friday and Saturday would be twins,
One half-nerd, but likes to dance to Bryan Adams when no one is watching,
The other waking up to Rodehouse Blues
And getting no sleep, at all.
Thursday is like my lover who hasn’t perfected the art of lovemaking, yet,
It’s clumsy, messy,
Sometimes in distress,
But he’s here, and he’s learning,
how I like to be kissed, carressed or sometimes,
How I despise human touch completely.
Tuesday is a sunny afternoon with three cans of chilled beer,
Sneaked in skilfully from the hawk eyes of your mother,
It is the cheapest cigarette you could afford after all that money you’d spent on beer,
It is like midlife crisis,
Only, to you, you feel it came too soon.
You don’t know any other way to drive your anxiety away,
So when the rest of the world is barbecuing their lunch,
you take a long, long nap,
On a bright, warm Sunday.


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