It's the Freakin' Weekend

Yo dawg, let the poet flesh out his mind
and tell you ‘bout his weekend-

Friday

School’s out;
bell’s rung-
work’s done.
Fuck this I’m too high strung.
Let’s go to the club!
Insidious boogiebeats, tropical drinks
Breezin on the breeze, coconut tanspray sinks
to the floor, to the spiked-hair, to my lungs
I don’t care. Fuck it it’s the weekend.

Saturday

Tequila sunrise, turn on FoxNews- Fuckyeah-representin’ GOP!
Eat some poet chow, crunchberries and hotsauce. Two hours later-
dog park time, little Barnaby’s gotta pee.
Finished that malarkey in no-time flat, nobody makes a dog piss like this bard, this madrigal.
Lunch with Linda, gotta have lunch with Linda(How else is a poet supposed to get any?).
Afternoon with homeboys, afternoon with books, afternoon at the Laundromat.
I saw some ghosts there, no biggie. I’m a poet, this stuff don’t scare me!
No clubbin for this patriot, this scoundrel of letters,
early to bed, early to rise, I got plans for tomorrow.

Sunday

Gotta go to church, I’s a man of god.
I preach the prophet’s verse, the lord’s lyric.

Monday

The weekend aint over yet…
Not till I say so