I worked all week,
I sweated and toiled,
I broke my back,
My plans were foiled,
My heart was shattered,
My brain turned to goo
So that, Dearest Saturday,
I could make it to you.
I slaved and I slobbered.
My displeasures grew
As I sat through lectures
I already knew,
I held off angry clients,
Protected my pen
So that we, Dearest Saturday,
Could be one once again.
Metaphorical dragons
Have fallen before me,
Slain so I could assure
That you would not deplore me,
And although I am thankful
To not be deplored
Why is it, Dearest Saturday,
That I’m this freakin’ bored?
