In some circles, today is known as Good Friday. In other circles, every Friday is good (mostly because the weekend has begun). For the rest, Fridays aren't anything special.
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about Friday. Do you like Fridays? Despise Fridays? Of course, you can also write about something that happened on a Friday--or write an ode to Fridays. Or, as you know, I'm all for seeing you attack this from an angle I haven't thought of yet.
Here's my attempt for the day:
"Whoever invented hangovers"
Should be shot before being drug out
into the street. I remember my first
in high school, thinking I'd done the world
wrong, that it was collecting a debt
on my head. Still had to get up and
into work. But getting older, I don't
even need to drink to feel it in there.
This Friday done knocked me down
before I turned out of bed. Could be
I was up working too late. Could be
this durn Georgia pollen. Could be
the April thunder showers rumbling
outside and threatening to spin out
a twister. Anyway, I'm glad I'm alive,
and thank goodness for pain relievers.