Friday
The kids do not screech their fights Asking me to come in between My thoughts are my own The smell of coffee, sometimes of gin And cigarette, my own. I consciously turn on the exhaust. I turn the music on Glad to have silence from nickelodeon or Disney I pour the gin and Think about my friends Wonder are they feeling the same I itch to text or call someone To share this moment with I turn on the computer People are online We share secrets and intimacies on the net And banter Talk about decades past Maybe for a moment As we relive yesterday And address today As we discuss the past based on who we are now I listen to the kitchen sink drama And I relate I feel like it’s Friday