THE WEEKLY TREAT

The dog is still asleep. The kids are, too,
so we’ll indulge ourselves; we always do.
It’s utter bliss – I wait for this all week
(but... better check and take a little peek):
Right, not a sound. Oh, goody, it’s your turn,
so I’ll just lie here while you do it. YEARN –
yes, that’s the word – I’m yearning for it now.
I love the way you do it; you know how
I like it, don’t you, Darling? Since you said
that you enjoy it most when we’re in bed,
and, Sundays, we would do it if we could,
we’ve managed it most weeks. It feels so good.
I’m ready for it – no, no, no, don’t tease!
I want it badly – pass my cuppa, please.

Gail for the Bonus Fiver. And me for deserved oblivion with ---

You meet a girl on Saturday
and both of you soon feel a
jointly rampant passion
on a gallon of tequila.

Your blood runs hot. Another shot!
You never heed the warning
that maybe you’d do better
to delay till Sunday morning.

A night of anticlimax and
“It doesn't matter," passes.
But dawn can drain the colour
from a fool's rose-tinted glasses.

And slowly through your hangover
reality starts dawning ---
Saturday’s Miss Right is now
Miss Wrong on Sunday morning.

sunday morning not coming down
 

I usually try to avoid metaverse, but I felt this title screamed for it. And it's certainly inspired quality from everyone, so high fives all round & here we become that familiar avatar of the writers' group, a mutual admiration society. I think I'll send the bugger off to Juicy Lucy.

Though many folks like Sunday
just as much as Saturday,
In truth, I must declare
my preference for the latter day.
Though Sunday, just like Saturday,
brings rest and relaxation
a respite from the working week
and all its aggravation,
as for me, I find
it's not quite such a fun day:
I wake up Sunday morning
obsessing about Monday.

Martin, I think yours is in the running.
I'd lose the teeth though. (haha) Too OTT.

Marion, Spot on. I hope you will find me much improved without teeth!

Martin, way to go! It's funny but kinda sad too. My pick for the fiver.

oblivion?
 

Never – not for someone who has produced a piece of sweet-sour verse that could have been (mutatis mutandis) Dorothy Parker's.

Well, Bazza, I said it was my pick. Although I'm not handing out a fiver, of course. But it's the thought that counts.

When Sunday laws would force the stores to close,
it didn’t mean we had to fill a pew;
few acts, in fact, excelled compelled repose
on duvet-covered mornings, entre-nous.
But Sabbath regulations worked too well,
as folks like us preferred to stay abed,
and church attendance regularly fell,
till services, like shops, were fairly dead.

So Caesar rendered unto Mammon Sunday,
and now, for all we know, each store’s a-buzz.
We may be tempted out to see it, one day,
though Sundays we’re still staying in, because
observance laws have honed our sales resistance:
as we foresook the church and being blessed,
we now forego the sales and sales assistants—
but damned if we’ll renounce a day of rest.

Frank