Saturdays

No need to get up to go to work,
But still I wake up with a jerk
As eight o'clock comes round again,
The time imprinted on my brain
To rise and dress and make some tea,
With a slice of toast to give to me
The energy needed for work or play
During the hours of the coming day.
After breakfast, the day begins
And I do each job which underpins
The life of one who goes to work,
And also one who cannot shirk
The boring jobs which life entails,
However much my poor mind quails,
At the thought of all the time they take,
From the precious hours when I'm awake.
Shopping for food - that's one on the list,
That definitely never can be missed.
So off to the shops and market too,
To stock up the fridge with something new
The Post Office calls for a visit as well,
The queues can be long - one never can tell.
The newsagents next, and maybe the bank,
For these in addition quite generally rank
Among all the places I have to frequent,
And they tend to add yet another big dent
In the time I have spare for me to pursue
The interesting things that I want to do,
Go to the library  for new books to read
And shopping for anything else that I need.
Spending some time seeing what is now on -
In no time at all, all of Saturday's gone,