weekend unleashed

Weekend Unleashed

Weekend arrives like a cheeky mate  
who rings your bell at sparrow-light,  
careless of your hair-tangled dreams  
and the kettle’s half-sleeping whistle.  

On the back deck, dew glistens  
like a dozen tiny sausages left out overnight—  
I shuffle in thongs, rescue them  
from their chilly silver crowns.  

The barbie slumbers with cold snags,  
but I prod it awake with a stubby in hand,  
vowing grand plans (“I’ll sort the garden!”)  
that wilt faster than my second flat-white.  

A magpie serenades the washing line,  
where socks perform their own tango—  
and I, ruler of this sunburnt patch,  
declare laundry day a national sport.  

Afternoon drapes its lazy silhouette:  
an icy river of lemonade,  
footy blaring from the telly,  
and the cat’s solemn judgement of my third nap.  

Dusk spills its pink confetti across corrugated tin,  
I perch on a stool—hero of my own backyard—  
toasting the sky with whatever’s left in the stubby,  
and cheer to weekends: small rebellions in good company.  

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