Right Off Track Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I skip the orange
and grab the salty snack.
I'll take the lift,
though I should climb the stairs.
I'll have a beer and chips.
I mean, who cares?
Would that I cared enough
to keep on track.
But all the healthy choices
seem so dull.
Why jog? Why walk?
when I can sit right here
just killing time
with all my vices near
and never feel them
rot my chest and skull.
So who am I to question
whom you pick?
Guess running after fools
is exercise.
Give up on love.
Go gorge on smiles and lies
until you're sad or crazy,
wretched, sick.
I'd be your healthy choice,
but there's the curse:
I could do better too,
but you’ll do worse.