Three Day Week

3-day week


‘Rice, rice, baby! You could be that blonde!’

You spit at me with the titbits I don’t need to hear.

Straight into my guts, easy to digest,

Rendering swallowing obsolete.

Buy, buy, buy! You shout.

‘Everybody yeah, chicken satay yeah’ lights my crave for poultry.

MSG-permeated nutrition-free soup, I slurp.

With the last obedient gulp I forget, famished yet again.

‘It’s Monday,’ your newsreader proclaims.

Where has the weekend gone?

Friday’s tender expectation of the pleasure yet to come.

Saturday’s face-painted ponytail chase through the Rowntree Park.

Drowsy Sunday’s breather to experience life.

An expert thief you are, stealing seventy two hours that count,

Stuffing them with your pulp.

‘You’re not you when you’re hungry.’

I’m not me when I’m full. Fed up with your nonsense.

Please return my mundane, my silence, my three days of nought.

A full refund is offered should the service displease, your disclaimer has said.

Wasted time’s attached in lieu of receipt.