503

The issue is that good times will not be.

That’s why I must fix everything today.

The weekend cannot possibly be free

of all the ills that ail me on its way.

So that good meal I could save for the eve

of Saturday must be enjoyed right now;

for Saturday’s loyalty may take leave

of me, not that she’d have me anyhow.

Thus: eat, drink, and be merry makes its way

into my heart, despite how I despise

what such a mantra does to those who say

that, on the morrow, everybody dies.

But, sinner that I am, I must partake

that fruit, tho I the better part forsake.