I live the life of a monk


except for the drinking,
which I don’t do to escape problems
only to make them

and the smoking
   (ditto)

and the gambling,
but that’s okay
it’s under control
it’s all in fun
and I always reinvest my profits

and the swearing,
which I learned 
at my goddamn job
and honed in bullshit meetings
pissed-off phone calls from cocksuckers
stern lectures from motherfucker yuppie bosses
with theirs heads up their proverbial asses

so if you forget about
the loud music
the shots of whiskey
the girlie magazines
the shirking of my duties
the sleeping past noon
the odd stumble into a strip joint
and the occasional
joke about the pope
well then
I’m saint fucking augustine.

[Back To Poetry By Bill Tuomala] [Exiled on Main Street] [Writing] [Contact]