@donnzonen
**TGIF**
The alarm screams at six,
but Friday whispers back:
“Not today.”
Coffee tastes like victory,
traffic hums a softer tune,
the boss’s voice loses its sting—
even spreadsheets look forgiving.
Clock hands crawl,
then suddenly sprint past five.
Doors swing open like jail gates,
and the weekend air rushes in,
cool, reckless, alive.
Shoes kick off mid-stride,
ties become casualties on the floor,
laughter spills louder than wine,
music shakes the bones loose
from Monday’s grip.
Thank God it’s Friday—
the weekly resurrection,
the sweet rebellion of the soul
that remembers how to fly
for forty-eight golden hours.
Raise your glass, weary pilgrim.
The week is dead.
Long live the weekend.
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