TGIF

I have given up on the saccharin treasures of my optimism today.
There is no angelic voice calling me "Honey" at the drive-thru with my morning coffee,
no toothless grin of a child on the bus making me late,
nor the calming taste of left over licorice to heal me.

My mind is a rabble of noisy, angry thoughts
left over from a work-week full of unnecessary toil.

My colleagues and I depart the place
where we make sweaty wages,
defeated and lifeless,
as if we were the putrid remains of some poor animal
run over and left to rot on the side of the road.

I wipe the mucous from the pinched corner of my mouth
and spit the poison onto the ground.

On days like these, let the rain fall down in all her misery
and give me hope that tomorrow
can't get any worse.

The paper cuts will fade in no time.
The psychological games and irrational gems
will be there, festering,
when we get back on Monday.

For now, we give knowing looks to each other as we pass out the door saying,
"Thank God it is Friday."