heart attack Friday

heart attack Friday

something about
the nearness of the weekend,
moves the hearts
of a certain kind of man
to frenzied beating,
squeezed in the grip
of the fading glow
of the week:

the worry of children
the worry of wives
the worry of full sheds
the worry of untidy sheds
the worry of golf clubs
the worry of in-laws
the worry of a cold bedroom
the worry of an empty bedroom
the worry of a half-empty bottle of whisky
the worry of washing the car before the rain
the worry of masturbating in the shower like a teenager
the worry of masturbating in the shower with a teenager
the worry of a TV dinner
the worry of weekend access
the worry of access to quality pornography
the worry of paying for the car month on month
the worry of that stain on the wife’s skirt from when you struggled into it
the worry of whether the flowers are expensive enough
the worry of that crack in your daughter’s bedroom door
the worry of that crack in your son’s bedroom door
the worry of that late-night bedroom visit
the worry of them not telling Mum
the worry of that credit card bill
the worry of touching her against the photocopier
the worry of the disciplinary for lunchtime drinking
the worry of the mess left behind
the worry of whether the rope will be strong enough

inside the arteries
the worries blossom
and spread themselves
like a deathly jam inside the walls.

the spasm of a sudden end,
as blue lights
are seen from the floor.
the blank faces of colleagues
as they close the door.

the worry of what people will find out,
when you are no more.