Friday Poem by G. Newton V. Chance

Friday, most merciful of days, drunk,
staggering landlubber on ship deck
of stormy Sabbath waters; the sea
baptizes anew all day till skin
is a pallid, shrivelled, salted prune.
Gale, soft morning breeze, gently lifts eye-
curtains and waves workout new beaches.
Look up! the bird with wings of silver
owns the sky, flies against a mango-
ripe sun, wary of the sporting gun.
Island to island, islands, pebbles
in pipe dreams of uniting peoples;
pelau, callaloo and curry stew.
Monday returns with an empty heart.