The Second Month

The bank app is a ledger of my sins,

where the cheap burger always wins.

It’s the first Tuesday of the second month,

and I’ve eaten the resolution at once.

I found the receipt in my winter coat,

a salt-stained confession I didn't wrote.

The yellow grease bled through the brown,

a heavy oil that drags the spirit down.

Thirty days of discipline, then the break.

I’m just a man with a hunger I can't shake.