Cheated on my wife yesterday.

Short changed my employer too.

It wasn’t the first time either.

Left work early, headed straight

for a rendezvous.

The motor lodge perfectly situated

midway between office and home.

Pulled into the lot, backed

directly in front of room one-twenty

hiding my tag from street-side eyes.

I’m experienced at this.

Looked up, mirrored the door

and imagined the room beyond.

Dresser on the right, TV on top,

bathroom straight ahead,

end tables sandwich a king-sized bed

partially occupied,

clothes hastily thrown over a chair.

No sense waiting, reached into

my attaché—for the key—

to anticipated bliss.

Quickly opened to page twenty-two of

Taylor Mali’s, What Learning Leaves.

Read “Like Lilly Like Wilson” for a fifth time.

Thirty minutes passed as one.

Stopped on page forty-five,

slipped in the bookmark,

closed the paperback, stuffed it,

well back under the passenger seat.

Hurriedly fired up the engine and sped homeward,

traveling a meager five miles over the limit.

No sense incurring a ticket, compounding

my indiscretion and adding to the guilt.

With difficulty, ignored the cell phone’s

musical demand for action.

Was it the office? The wife?  Powered it off.

Half-hour purloined from the world.

Worth every second but hopefully

this compulsion will not lead to obsession

that wrecks my career, ruins a joyful marriage

built upon foundations of honesty and trust. 

Is there a twelve-step program for poetry addicts?

If so, pray it never comes to that for me.