Fuck You Friday

We sit, on hard wooden benches,
time aching. Making eye contact, but not speaking.
I don’t beg,
and he was bound by time alone to remain seated.
Remain seated, until 12am, which came and went
with out any shedding of blood or needing.
He doesn’t relent
and knows that I will always have to wait.
We have a love hate relationship,
Me and Friday. More hate than affection.
He avoids me if he can, and I forget him when
he says nothing.
My days pass, and my routine carries on,
and he uses my lack of direction
in his favour.
I call Friday a ‘he’ because
a woman would at least make small talk.
But Friday would screw me over and then just walk.
No names.
No numbers.
Just the residual feeling of having
missed
something…

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