A poem #84 – Living for the weekend

Forgive me if my reaction to your statement
seems a little queer,
but living for the weekend
is only fifty-two times a year.
What do you do with your time
in the remaining two-hundred and sixty-one,
if you do not allow yourself
to have any fun?
What is it that stops you
from using the in-between 5s,
and prevents you from making
the most of your lives?
Is it pursuant
to increasing your money –
the magical numbers
that make all things appear “sunny”?
Why, for your salary,
must you slave
and waste all your time
and all of your days?
For the earth is beautiful enough
without all your workings,
and more often than not
you both suffer at the hand of your hurtings.

JP Collins

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