A Friday night is her time, and it’s clear
that doesn’t mean a pizza with the kids.
It does no harm, it’s just a little beer
she sips out on the deck where she can hear
no whining, just the song of katydids.
A Friday night is her time. She made clear
there’s hell to pay if any child comes near.
Inside it sounds as if they’ve flipped their lids—
that does no harm. And just a little beer
can make the aggravation disappear.
If hubby were around more, he’d get rid
of Friday night as her time. Is it clear
she’s not a lush? Okay, she has this fear
it’s something that society forbids.
The harm, the harm! Not just a little beer,
but four cans, five! The neighborhood will sneer
at how this perfect mother hit the skids.
A Friday night is her time. What’s not clear?
It does no harm; it’s just a little beer.
Prompt source: NaBloPoMo Poetry Contest: Villanelles (BlogHer)
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