Poem: Friday


 From the coffee joint I can see it all:

The blue and white sky
Offers the tiniest hint of darkness
But still lights up the drive time home

The city bumpers, tired and craggy
From the crawl into the suburbs
Now lethargically maneuver
Through the last mile home

Neon lights on restaurants
Beckon the onslaught
Of starving diners
To stand on sidewalks
Smoking, talking, running game
All the while waiting
Waiting to be announced

The coffee joint heats up now.
Corporate laptops one by one slide shut
And the power meeting wraps it up
The collared shirts, and pressed slacks on phones
All talk of Monday.
Monday. Monday.
Oh, what we’ll do on Monday.

Then they clink their keys three times,
And poof they disappear
Into suburban split levels, colonials, and red brick houses
For whom they’ll give their best years
Just to finally own

The room is a bit louder now
Than fifteen minutes ago
Four teens at the coffee bar
Awkward smiles and short shorts
Digitize. Catalog. Announce.
Every moment, every half clever word
From the heralds in their palms

In and out
In and out
In and out they come
Each time through the door
Gaining one or two or losing some

Rendezvous, they talk.
Rendezvous. Rendezvous.
Come let us make our plans…
Let us see where the night may lead

The lights in the coffee joint
Seem to brighten
Even though there is no dimming switch

The couple at the bar
Leans a little closer, and talks a little lower
Than they would have an hour before
(Does she know she bats her eyes, just like Betty Boop?)

They’re on borrowed time, an early date.
Before the sitter hits the strip.
The stroke of nine is all you got
Better make it count.

And so it goes…
Another Friday afternoon
Slowly fades
Into Friday night.


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