Friday Nights – Laura Chaignon

Laura Chaignon

On Friday nights
I drink my tears
In a pink
Sparkly glass
        A crowded feast
I brush past
A thousand dreamers
Drinking blood from chalices
Holding them up
To show off their size and shape
Their glossy feel
        Varnish on their wounds
A great get together
To expiate the sorrows
In a dozen different flavours
As we hold our cups high
Like a rallying sign
Like a knowing look
Sip after sip
Industrious
We gathered
In this room
Of labour.

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