Friday night is the one

Bile burns the back of the throat
I remember why I choose the daytime
for the bars.
Humanity reminds me why
it consumes my negative energy.

Three rude boys walk
with a collective glare.
A cackle of young girls
scream at each other
making threats that will lead
to the pulling of hair
somewhere further down
the sorry pavement.

Another kid who can’t hold
the drink offers down
leaves a stomach flavoured trip hazard
in the path of those who can.
Every other car insists
that it must be heard.
Then I’m home.

Just in time to see the friends
of next door leave:
More rude boys too engrossed
in a life of petty shite
to return a smile.
The neighbour, too much of a sheep
to return a polite ‘how are you mate?’

This is Friday night,
the one that always tips the balance
reminding me where the anxiety
and disdain started.
It’s a sordid mess,
and I still have to try and find slumber
with the window open.