In Which I Muse On The Weirdness Of Shift Work

It's early Thunday afternoon as I
Write down these lines at work and watch the clock.
Tomorrow, Fronday, quickly shall pass by,
My last workday this week. How it shall rock!
On Suesday I do all my chores so that
My Sednesday might pass without a care
(For Sednesday is when I go play and chat
With friends down at the pub, whoever's there).
Then Sursday is my quiet time. I plan
The week's priorities, go shopping, then,
I finish anything that I began
On Suesday but left undone. Once again
Does Mriday roll 'round, and I'm off to work.
With three days off I mind not: it's a perk.