On a Friday

On a Friday, I'm slow love,

the caress of a gentle finger on the neck,

smooth man,

what do they say,

those youths in love....

an operator.

In the yellow pages,

Mr. Man that's who they look for,

but you have to look under

Free Love.

Yet on Fridays, I'm

remote man,

like a far-away sweet scent,

scented strawberry swish

I SCREAM.

Killer face, poky breast,

in the bedroom,

lost in the sheets....

then so upset--

that's how A player

laces up his sneakers

on a Friday morning.