by 
Formerly my Fridays
With “the girls”
Now, part-time
Poet
Teacher
Vain fool
Driving home still
The same
Wine-happy two glasses on
The edge a lonesome reality
Truck cab filled with
Some inane tune
Not Aretha, Stones, or Hendrix
Those here-to-fore
Post-cultural anthems
Not even Motown’s
Grooved soul strong invoking
Memories of sweaty
California nights
Dancing on perdition’s
Edge – no
This impractical
Tune made me glad
For winter & windows
Up sparing others
The sound of my voice
Emboldened with spirits
Singing from a seat on the
Fringe of bedraggled dreams
Twenty-two miles
Before I engage
Sobering cold
Doors
Reality’s reluctant usher
Gwen's World 
Our “Livin for the Weekend” days have long gone leaving in its place fond and not so fond memories of our youth !
We could hang On Fridays til the dawn. Saturday the same thing! Wow, I remember those days and nights!
Rhonda Sent it from her iPhone.