Poetry: Week End

Week End

The weekend, where the strong lose their way –
Down slippery slopes towards headache and tooth decay
Slick with the greasy necessity of social lubricant
And the want of mindless sweat and pant
Like dogs they sniff at the ordinate places
The gonad targets hid way behind the allure of faces

On Sunday I see more crosses than any other day
But in truth they do not come in the pious way
At the start and end of the week the blue light dances
Accompanied by the jarring sound of ambulances
It is the mass of the masses found unholy with pills
Transported from leather beds to stale hospitals

The big business of the idle mind carried out in dismay
It comes and goes from Thursday through Tuesday
Red eyes leave the dealers and blues salesmen in the black
No peace piecemeal makes its deadly attack
There is no sleep for the unconscious conscience
At once with riches and then to count pence


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