Everything is tired

Everything is tired

Saturday stretches out

Barely able to raise itself

From the tail end

Of a long week

The sun hanging in the sky

Tarnished as an old

Christmas decoration

Some people keep up

Way past the time

They should have been taken down

A radio chatters from across

The divide between one house

And another

White folks lip sync

To a project rap

What do they know about it

Nothing hip

Or new ever happens

Without brown noses

Prostrating themselves on red carpets

Pretending to love

People they don’t know

Adopting affected accents

Distorting corporate faces

Into approximations

Of appreciation

Hitting the beat

In all the wrong places

Do they still open

Fire hydrants

On the streets of New York city

It seems romantic

From six thousand miles

And a comfortable cushion

Against the downturn

Even when the day is empty

Of promise

There is always the prospect

Of a surge of adrenaline

To bring a new world

To the door

It would only take a moment

To put on a game face

Push the ennui

Under the carpet

Along with the dust

From yesterday’s memory

It is elephant sized

More difficult to hide

Than a plastic ono band

Saturday’s are slow

To take-off

They need the whole runway

Free and clear

To complete the manoeuvre

And reminiscence

Is an important part

Of the process

Blame it on the boogie.