Guilty Pleasure
It’s that one cigarette, I allow myself
after the wife leaves for work.
The sixteen-ounce coffee I walk to
the corner Bodega for every day,
I’m not supposed to drink, okay.
Maybe throw a donut in there
or buttered 'Everything Bagel' once
in a while.
It’s the skin flick I might watch
in the middle of the day on pay-for-view.
The three seven & seven I have at
Jerry’s Bar & Grill when I meet up with
the old gang from work on the third Tuesday
of the month, rain or shine, when.
One's, what I agree, I’d nurse all night.
My guilty pleasures, it’s all the above, plus.
To be honest with you.
Probably a good bit more.
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