Friday, today, I’m ready, today I know.
Fridays are for paper planes, the day when every child for streets around folds and throws and hopes to win.
Fold and throw and hope, I always do, but never win, never close.
Failing to be furthest or highest in flight or the cleanest or the most stylish in folds.
For all my work, the lower leagues are home.
Friday, today, will be different.
Folding from dusk till dawn, the most exquisite, the most engineered.
Forward, to the head of the queue.
Folded and ready, then I throw, no hope needed, today I know.