Saturday Night No Fever
The current in my inner skin
today does sting
like sharply pointed
nine pins

the weekend is going to be dry
Saturday and Sundays
all everything closed
no surprise nothing to try

where into the garbage bin of time
can we ourselves dispose
early morning we all rose

the sun was keen to peep in
but scratching inside doors
kept me sighing

the clouds requested the sun
to wait
the poet now sleeps
though late

I hear the silent laughter and get up straight
pull the curtains and welcome my sun