when I got up this morning, his voice stopped me —
I had an idea, he said.
so I said, tell me.
he said, there are just as many deadly sins
as there are days in a week,
and I just don’t buy that it’s coincidence.
I think we ought to match them up
and feel them, one day assigned to each.
so I laid back down in bed
and I said, tell me how it would go.
on Sundays we would cater to our Gluttony
begin with coffee and end with red wine
savoring each bite of every taste on our tongues
a never-ending meal of anything we liked.
and on Mondays our Greed would take hold
making green-eyed monsters of us
take, take, this is mine, I want it
the world is ours for the taking.
then on Tuesdays we could unleash our Wrath
snap our collars and race after those who have wronged us
throw punches, use teeth and claws
scream at the top of our lungs until we feel like stopping.
our Wednesdays would be our Pride
spend the morning with our mirrors and the afternoon
reminding everyone of all the things we do
we are gods among men and they need us to survive.
every Thursday our Envy would surface
and we could finally admit that we covet
I want it, I want it, I hate that you have it
we could tell you how it hurts to see your success.
and Fridays would be for Lust
we could arch our backs and spread our legs
take home a stranger just because we want to feel something
and spend the day losing control.
by Saturday our Sloth would take over
spend the day among a pile of blankets
only moving when we had to
just to light a candle or pick a new book to read.
so there it is, he said,
tell me what you think of it.
it would be delicious and sinful and perfect,
I told him,
if you were actually here.
so I left the seven deadly sins
lying in my empty bed.