Fridays
I blend with abandon
transfer from work
freedom
my spare time off
its my job
free
I draft ride current
on a downhill
stride
in a trance
caught by a string
temper
from which I refrain
the racket in my
brain
drove me to strike
the key to the chest
crack
Friday
I sit in the park
watch rats scurry
as sun sets
This was written for A Sunday Whirl #61. Follow the link and see what others have written.
Sometime there is just no time off; and sometimes that racket in one's brain must be listened to. Watching rats scurrying, at the end of this particular poem, sounds like relaxation.
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed this... I have a racket in my brain sometimes, too.
ReplyDeleteAnother Diane mysterious poem!
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed reading the unique images you have in this. And there is something just so starkly frank about sitting there watching the rats! Excellent.
ReplyDeleteSo well written....
ReplyDeleteunder the surface