The weekend is so scary (after Philip Larkin)

The weekend is so scary. It moves on without your consent,
unimpressed by the agony of the ones who are living it
as if parenting our tantrum. Instead, content
with nobody to coddle, it blossoms sunlit
onward, having no reason to slow its descent

into Monday again, deciding we've had enough,
and packing us into our carseat, screaming,
and driving on. The rest of the days fly by through
the window, and lull us back into daydreaming.
The workdays loosening us for Friday, like a plough.