There's a certain poetry about a Friday afternoon. No, I don't find myself sprouting verse, blank or otherwise. It's more that Friday is POETS Day, a fine tradition known as Piss Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday. I must say that this week more than most I felt an urge to down tools and escape. There's probably even some perfectly wonderful rhyming slang to describe the mood but I am too tired to think of it or repeat it. But with my furry
accomplices
in tow, we went off to visit Grandma. For the dogs, it was more like Christmas than Poets Day. They got to charge around the back yard after birds that were close enough to suggest a possibility without ever getting close enough to present any danger. And I got to sit back and watch the stage show. It really was poetry in motion.
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