Saturday, 12 April 2014

NaPoWriMo Catch-up 10: Anacreontic

It's Friday night! It's Friday night!
The weekday burden now grows light,
and supermarkets and off-licenses
ring with the grins that split their owner's faces

as Monday's most industrious drone
acquires a box of Cotes du Rhone
to wipe away the pain of work.
Behind closed doors he goes berserk

watching Have I Got News for You
and laughing at the guy from UKIP
because he isn't like the others
those smarmy metropolitan buggers

with their poncy jobs and their poxy wine
and their middle-class ways of passing the time
and their...look, he's still a rebel, yeah?
It's this or acknowledging the despair,

it's this or accepting he wasted his life,
it's this or admitting he hates the wife,
it's this or expressing the fact that he hates
the job and the ongoing workaday wait

until Friday night, Friday night,
when he can pretend that his burden grows light
given wings by a box of the New World's warmth,
thinking no, it's tequila that comes with the worm,

it’s only what’s left of his soul he hears squirm.

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