Fat Tuesday
Ash Wednesday
was merely you stamping out your cigarette
and I standing there watching
as the last of the smoke escaped your lips
unable to give you up
for any sort of ridiculous religious conviction
atheist or otherwise
my sins paled in comparison to yours
and left me feeling pious and righteous
never worried about whose left hand I would be sitting at
when all was said and done
the food and the fucking both taste so much better
when someone tells you you can’t have them
so pour your communion wine into the dip of my shoulder
my belly button
and drink of life’s blood
drown out the trumpet sounds drifting through the windows
and toss aside all the beads
our Mardi Gras will never end
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