Pancakes of a Tuesday
I’ll have my fill tonight
With lent waiting there
To maul me of a Wednesday
40 days in a desert
I think I’ll take a drink
Whiskey tasted pure
Of the Thursday
By the end I was unsure
If it was the pancakes
Or the religion
But by Friday I was
Luring myself from the bed
Wishing the child of Prague
Would cease to stare
At john f kennedys picture
Beneath Pope pious’s
Lenten grin
I’m giving it up for wisdom
The sugar and the wine
The Guinness and the cider
No more I’ll go a smoking
No more I’ll walk the evil path
At least not until Saturday
When my mind recalls
The truth I forgot to remember
I don’t believe in any of it at all