Slightly Different Poem by bob barci

The weekend arrived
on a different stroke.
I’m up, but not quite awake,
because I have to be.
I can’t lounge over coffee and cartoons.
I’ll miss my usual train to the city.
I have to help open up for the clown.
Tidy up the place for guests.
My shift should end at eleven,
but got asked to stay till two: thirty.
A little overtime can’t hurt.
City action is delayed by 2 or 3 hours.
I’ll still get my time in.
The weekends arrive differently now,
but still end up the same.