Thank God it's Friday. Now the weekend starts.
He's off to have a few beers with his friends.
As he leaves his desk he quickly departs
As the work-a-day world comes to an end.
His friends, already there when he arrives,
Order for him a cool, refreshing mug;
They greet each other with some strong high-fives,
Though one of them misses; he's such a lug.
He likes this bar with its chips and salsa,
Which balances the bright and foamy froth;
One friend tells him what he thinks of NAFTA,
Another that he's dating a girl goth.
This place is like a temple where they can retreat
And where they can recover from the too long week.
Copyright © Jim Wilson