Moan-day: The Necessary Evil

Oh Monday, you fiend, with your devilish grin,
Why must you barge in, where weekends have been?
The alarm clock’s a tyrant, a merciless chime,
Ripping me from my dreams before their prime.

Sunday was sunshine, a glorious spree,
But you? You’re a rain cloud over my glee.
With emails and meetings and bosses who drone,
You’ve turned my poor brain into a stone.

My coffee’s too bitter, my commute’s too long,
The radio mocks me with a cheery song.
Oh Monday, you thief, you heartless rogue,
You steal our spirit like a soggy toad.

The inbox is full, the to-do list’s a beast,
And my energy level? It’s deceased.
Colleagues are grumpy, the printer’s on strike,
If weeks were a cycle, you’re the flat bike.

But wait, you sly dog, I’ll give you some credit—
You make Fridays sweeter, I’ll grudgingly admit it.
For without your chaos, your gut-punch of pain,
Would weekends feel like the ultimate gain?

So here’s to you, Monday, you necessary curse,
You make us all poets—and therapists rich, of course.