Friday's Child Poem by Frank Bana

Friday evening comes again, the fading light
As summer falls towards the winter's arms
The birds adjust their song to Sabbath tones
From branches clothed in leaves just clinging on
To vestiges of life. You sit alone
With thoughts so nimble in their questioning
And dreams and longing looming large
But not yet smooth, the guards
Of all you wish your heart to realize.

An irritating child, again, is tugging on your jeans
The bitter taste on tongue offsets the comfort of your chair,
An orphaned thought that plays on every page
Across the screens and headlines of the day
The voices that call harshly to the air:
'What makes such evil beings out of men
Born into innocence and held in arms, but yet
Learning by day and in their secret nights
How hatred is perfected, intricate
As if all others of their kind were not the same
In bone and very DNA? ' Your child of thought
Fades with the light, as the weekend
And invitations to the family hearth approach,
Your ears caressed by birdsong, you fall soft
Into the arms of autumn and repose,
Believing tenderness can heal the heart.