Sunday stood, quite authoritarian, at the start of the week
Full of ideas on how Things Should Be Done
And What Should Happen
Monday dawned, grey and dismal,
And contemplated throwing a sickie
Before dragging itself in for a day
Fuelled by caffeine and idle boredom
Tuesday decided it was now suitable as a girl's name
Ran off to play with its dolls,
Before growing up and breaking some poor boy's heart
Wednesday sat at a crossroads,
Neither here nor there
Developed an identity crisis
And disappeared to join the Prozac nation
Thursday sat deep in thought
In the twilight of time
And considered the nature of fleeting
Whilst Friday let its hair down
Partied all night
Staggered home and threw up
In the kitchen sink
Saturday disarmed with a smile
Returned hope
Fell asleep with arms wrapped around
And then, the week was.
