(20 minute poetry)

Fill it in Friday
dye it blue,
what does anything
have to do or anyone
have to say,
but
Friday.

send me a test card
hung on a lanyard
or up on the yardarm
where I'm swinging
my bones

Weismuller's
full of something
now
that guy knows how
to swing
but
you're probably too young
to remember him,

Guess again
I'm back on the
underground train
and
it's snowing down here
either that or my eyes
have gone queer

it could be the light
or a trick of the night
looks like snow
though.

Nearly done for the year
eight more hours here
and a beer for a chaser.

Going
but not quite,
Injecting
testosterone
deepening my voice
a tone
heading on home
for Christmas.