Poem: The Working Week – 01/08/20

Monday draaags himself in,
he doesn’t want to be here,
other Mondays wave from behind stern mugs of coffee,
they also don't wish to be here.

Sunday and Saturday had the time of their lives
the previous days,
they celebrated and socialised in a manner that really
was purely wholehearted in so many ways.
 
Tuesday comes into the scene yawning,
muttering: How can it be this early?
I mean, it seems like only yesterday when
Saturday was swaying inebriated on the roof
and loudly singing.
 
Tuesday fetches a pick-me-up 3pm Cup of Soup
and cracker,
to get through this morning was by no means
requiring a small amount of power!
 
Wednesday causes a bump as he rides in,
Hump Day he is, after all,
Midweek, midweek!
the current days call!
 
And Thursday, how delectable,
getting closer to that prized Friday,
when the end of the workweek will arrive,
and away from the office all the days will run,
with Saturday they will thrive!
 
But after much celebration,
joviality, and relaxation,
the end of Sunday draws near,
and suddenly: panic!
 
There’s a pain in the realisation
that work is looming,
they must rise,
begin their preparations,
spreadsheets amassed and lunch-making calling,
aaand back to Monday, 
with cups of strong coffee brewing.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

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