Tuesday Nights

Tuesday nights are for Minareting.

Tuesday nights are for fighting
with articles that just won’t fit.
“Widow” and “orphan” words
start the columns and Mike
won’t have it. The paragraphs
must flow together, so do it again.

Tuesday nights are for the unexpected,
like rain in the office.
The ceiling started to pour
and we had to scatter.
The water stopped and then the ceiling
started to fall. Nicole screamed.

Tuesday nights are for making
the microwave smell
so the sports editors say,

“get that away from me,
you should eat at home.”

Tuesday nights are for gossiping
about TV shows.
“Did you catch the episode,”
Cara would ask. “Yes,”
I would answer excitedly.

Tuesday nights are for seeing
how long we can go without sleep.

Once we hit 2 a.m.,
we just start laughing at everything,

4 a.m. rolls around,
and we’re just about done.

Wednesdays are for our
Minaret hangover.

This is when we sleep
and miss classes.

This is when we are zombies.


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