sin is...

Sin is being content
to stuff my grumbling stomach
with limp slices of Spam,
when right in front of me
is a thick, juicy steak --
courtesy of a free coupon
from the Celestial Grillhouse.

Sin is scuttling away from
the Farmer's running hose
of sparkling water,
to dive and wallow instead,
amid my hoggish grunts,
into the stinking cesspool
of my own filth and excrement.

Sin is spreading my whore's legs
before a gang of hoodlums --
whose services I pay for
with my Husband's money --
even though I know full well
that He stands behind the ajar door,
watching, watching
with a broken heart.