One of Those Fridays

Magic meltdowns on late

Friday late-afternoons.

The sun going down and me

Laying dormant on my couch—

My chin on an overly firm cushion

And my legs sprawled

Haphazardly

I’ve been so overworked all week

That it’s time for another

Friday-night gluttony

Another Friday-evening

Monotony

Another Friday-afternoon depression—

I never know what to do with my hands when

I lay as though I am dead.

Do I cross them under me?

Or over me?

Or lay them stiffly—

Frankeinstein-ly—

At my sides?

Maybe I should just cut them off

And forget about it—

But that’s a bunch of nonsense.

I click on the TV and find

A rerun of a Saturday morning cartoon

From when I was young enough to have an excuse to watch.

And I watch now

And feel a tear try to roll down my cheek—

I excuse it with the lie that

It’s just allergies

And the rough fabric of the cushion

Which I press my face into,

Hoping to gain some feeling back.

I feel a fever coming on—

A deep sticky sweat

And a pounding headache.

And—

Shoot! —

I’ve got to work in the morning.

But don’t worry!

I’ll be back on my feet by Monday,

Back with a smile and

A complaint that the weekend

Was

Too

                        Short?