If we are alive at five
We practice the religion of Friday.
We go to work and do it with religious observation.
We are more religious than we know.
In the elevator and in the cubicle we practice our religion
With our house plants and our hellos.
We have made it to Wednesday and know
Thursday could go fast or could go slow,
But it will bring hope, and if the meetings go well
We might go to lunch and have something languorous to tell
Our coworkers, who live here and there.
The commute and the weekend are holy
And the vacation is holier still,
But the religion of Friday knows this Friday
A god will sit on our window sill.