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
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