There was a time when running free
I travelled far and wide to see
the Amazon and Rio’s beach –
I had it all within my reach.
I went to Machu Picchu and
I trekked the Andes Mountains grand.
The magic of the march inspired
my thoughts to rush – my mind was fired.
For two sweet years by bus I’d go
wherever travel folk would flow.
Yes at a whim I’d load my pack
and strap my geetar on my back.
Then if I liked a place I’d stay,
at times for ladies, or for play.
As free as water – no constraints.
A fresh white canvas – brand new paints.
Now ten years on two kids are mine;
a diamond wife keeps me in line.
But what’s this latest gift I see?
A week of pants to wear – for me?
‘You have to keep the order right,’
says my sweet love – my life’s delight.
‘Your Monday pants are here for you.
Now Tuesday’s pants are coloured blue.
‘On Wednesdays you should not be seen
unless the pants you wear are green.
There’s Thursday, Friday, weekends too!
They’ll see you out the whole week through’.
I’ve had a chance to contemplate –
and Monday is the day we hate.
We’re battered by the Monday blues,
so listen to my playful ruse:
It’s Friday has that extra spark.
We know we’re nearly at the mark.
So people joke with spring in step.
Yes Friday has that extra pep!
I’ll switch it up and have a lark –
so Monday has that magic spark.
For if my Friday pants I wear –
I’m sure to take their magic flair.
For no more rebel could one play
than mixing pants up with their day.
And all the blues will wash away –
when Friday’s pants I wear Monday.
by the Wannabe Bush Poet
