I will die on a Friday,
and it will be in the afternoon—
it must be in the afternoon
because I can’t skip class to die.
I will die on a Friday,
because I get things done on Friday,
because Friday is and has always been the end.
For some, it may be Thursday,
but I can’t die with them.

I will die on a Friday,
but not until I’ve cleaned my room—
I can’t die with my clothes not put away.
I’ll die on a Friday,
but first I’ll feed the cats
and I’ve got to call my mother and let her know that I’m okay
and I’ll have to do my reading,
just in case I wake up Monday
and I’ll have to go to class
because the dying didn’t take.

I could die on a Saturday,
but I’ve got work on Saturday,
and I can’t just drop myself dead
in the middle of a shift.
I could die on a Saturday
after my shift is over,
but my legs will ache from standing
and I can’t die when my legs hurt.

I could die on a Sunday
but I’d much rather sleep in,
and anyway I’ve got to wake up early after that—
I’ve got class Monday,
which is why I can’t die Sunday,
so I’ll just die on a Friday
but I’ve got to feed the cats.