It’s a Windy Friday Night

It is a windy Friday night

and I’ve got work in the morning

I’ve stayed in and done nothing but listen to the wind

working its way around this house again

I am bored, going on boring,

even my cat looks at me with those eyes

of no surprise

the social boy I used to be

we both remember

I’m inside myself now

the place where

engaging the night out

looks like climbing a mountain

opening the door held shut

by a thousand gusts

and outside must be

a hundred thousand more

but no one knows and no one minds

no one holds me to their time

and I must admit

it is nice, to be swept away

from the conscience of this bay.