The weekend stretches out
like a loaf of fresh baked bread.
I want to cut myself a slice but
I'm poorly,
tucked up in my bed.

Life isn't fair
even when I'm in there,
I should get well and tell life
to go to hell.

I received a letter
from the doctor,
it said
'you're better,
back to work'
The doc's a berk.

In spite of it all
I think I will fall and
taste Saturday night,
take a slice from the Sunday and
drift back slowly
into
Monday
where the week stretches out and
I'll wonder what the weekend was
all about.