petulant

friday night and it feels like
tuesday at five.
'tis too warm and the a/c
blows cold,
the fan pounds head,
i-dont-know-what-else is
wrong.

in bed i lie staring as taxis
prowl the midnight streets
for people to whom
things come easily -
we drink and die;
we love and forget;
we laugh and cry.

i drink, i die, i laugh, i cry -
still on friday night i lie staring.
taxis prowl the midnight street.
a/c's too cold - fan pounds.
so 'tis back to the a/c
but something's still
tuesday at five.

three, four, five.
i lie,
taxis prowl,
people drink,
things come,
a/c freezes over
and i cry
but things should come more easily.