What’s going on?

Nobody can dispel with the doubt
Of whether or not to vote him out.

While they continue to debate his menace
I’ve switched over to watch tennis.

Thank goodness it is on
Otherwise television might be gone

Off to the YMCA for a swim
Where I work hard to get fit and trip

But I’d better pack a snack
Because earlier the GNC kid nearly had a panic attack

When I asked if they sold any energy gels
Something he didn’t know to well

Explaining before the conversation went to far
That, “I have no idea what they are.”

So when I do make it back to the pool
There’d better be some electrolytes in my drool

Because the only nourishment I’ll be getting for my brain
Is from the rooftop patter of heavy rain

Mixing with the over done tennis grunting
And mind distracting political shunting

Keeping me from realizing how tiring life has become
As they work to get rid of this bum.

Really, what’s going on?

“Happy Fridaaayyy.”

Eff you,
I don’t want your BS cheerfulness,
Please know that this day is like all others,
Run,
Work,
Home,
Bed…

Not that there is anything wrong with you,
I just prefer to celebrate all of the days, not just Friday,
Because I know I’m on the long course
To a hot after-life vocation,
Which kind of excites me.

Not like balls in the butt for some,
Because I don’t care for that,
Nor do I care if others do,
To each his, her, or it’s own
As it is with your Friday cheer, as well.

You can be as perky as you want,
I’ll be as grumpy as I want,
We’ll pass in the way people do,
You superficially giving well-wishes through a faux expression
Of happiness that masks some insecurity on your part.

You see, I just left a ten-miler
Where my hands nearly froze off,
My friends nearly got run over, and
I witnessed a fifty-year-old woman wearing gray spandex
From a Buck Rogers episode.

The beauty is that none of that was negative,
Sure my hands hurt,
Sure my friends and I got scared,
Sure the space cadet pushed my ability to be polite due to her
Jane Fonda era exercise gear, but

I loved it all
The pain, the fear, and
The subtle laugh my friend, who is fast-tracking
Her way to the same cauldron of eternity gave me
At the sight of Apollo 13 coming down the runway.

There were also human snakes in fogged up glasses,
Excited discussions of triathlon anatomy,
Inappropriate references to all that is sacred,
Lip reading of profane verbiage, and
Still more amazement at the way people dress to exercise.

After leaving my friends,
Who are all normal of course,
I was regaled by the awesomely incorrect musings of ZZ Top
Who put the icing on the cake and had the word deranged ringing in my soul.
With that, I knew the best part of the day was over.

So take your cheeriness, the kind that is so Hallmark,
And know that I appreciate the effort,
But your parking lot kindness will never rise to the level
Of Billy Gibbons’s expression of jewelry and passion
Or to the greatness that was this loud and wildly entertaining Friday 10.

After a week that saw work rise with full force,
Unwanted comments about the hardness of whatever
From a work colleague, and an old lady
Putting her hand just above my butt and saying,
“Don’t back up, I coming in,”
I thought my Friday morning run
Might be simple and quiet,
An easy jaunt away from the weirdness
Surrounding my job.

Then, unrelated partners,
Moments of whim,
Conflagrations of inappropriateness,
And expressions of people’s overdeveloped
Senses of importance rose with the sun.

Friday became hypocritical…
Here they are,
The different things, out of sequence,
There for the hash taggers,
There for posterity,
Not posteriors, no matter the copy machine harassments.

I.

Ex mayor political expertise
At using hashtag comments with impunity
As needle moving provocations
To get hugs without allowing
Juice to get all over his dapper threads.

II.

Cold air brings nipples out
With their underdeveloped toughness
Succumbing to the abrasive ways
Of supercharged fabrics
That scrape and chaff
Like cheese graters on blocks of cheddar.

III.

Old men, no longer oozing testosterone
Angry at their inability to rise,
Getting mad at everything, unable to appreciate
The sweat and all juice has to offer.
Instead, dude should chill, age like a fine whisky,
Retaining its bite, curating a fire
So when the old plumbing finally falters
And the days are few,
Happiness still has a chance

IV.

“White people do that shit!”
The quote of the morning,
An observation straight from Puerto Rico
Said in the way only a Latina could express
About the ways of marriage and divorce
In the fairer skinned culture.
I would never dare to deny, nor suggest about others
With the same toned descriptions
For my people have long lost the right
To make stereotypical jokes
Outside of our troubled history.

V.

Duran Duran chimed in, “Mouth is alive, juices like wine,”
Just as Snoop did, offering,
“Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sipping gin and juice,”
Innuendo ruling the morning,
Enema inducing bike seat discussion
Peppered between the later-in-the-morning work day traffic.

That was enough for me,
Twelve hours later, I fell asleep sitting up on the couch.
Can’t wait for next week.

Finally, Friday,
A short, long weekend
Followed up
By what willk surely be
A too short weekend.

I wonder what it’s like
When everyday is a Saturday,
Retirement,
An ellusive vixen
Tempting and teasing
Offering the goods,
But when you get there
It’s all nasty.

Ah, whatever,
I’m too young for that,
Friday, that’s all today is.

A transient crowd is passing through

The kingdom’s one and only food court

While the band puts their journey’s on pause

With jazzy, jammy, and bluesy effects

Meant to ease the week away.

The patrons nosh on a variety of foods,

Brisket, burritos, burgers, and pie

Kind of in shock at the range

The band has brought to their home.

I’m taking it in,

Proud to have contributed to the show

As my son is playing guitar,

Killing it with his band mates

Dropping the notes and beats

I love hearing.

It’s kind of crazy

When people walk by

And I brag a little about the guitar guy

With a Hawaiian shirt and bending strings

That fits so well with the popping drums,

And massaging bass.

Ah, Friday…

Pepped out, man
Not a bit of energy left to give.
That blue sky and cool breeze
Took my last bit of interest
In this long week away.
So now I think,

Make a run?
Pass and go to the game?
Forget both and just hang?

I think I’ll tap out
Because this couch is me
Einstein is tight
And I think I’ve given all I can
This week.