Diet's Lament

Flibbedy flabbedy rolling excess skin

In these curves – not curves, no

Bulges! Wobblings and wrinkles – God!

That the mirror is fearsome to behold.

No, this skin this flesh won't go

Not with pinches and prods

Shifting and moulding

Or sucking your breath in.

It makes its presence felt.

And yet, the food, this mouth

These secret trysts that neither will stop

Lover's meetings, lovely meetings

And we gorge – the cakes, the treats

The rich delicious appetite for

Oh, just a little bit more then.

And then the treadmills, the flimsy

Sponge-filled bread, thin yoghurts

Saying NO and feeling proud until

That Day Comes – easter eggs or Christmas lunch

Or even now: March the 18th

Coming home and feeling tired, seeing

On the counter, innocently placed

- double triple solid creamy -

Chocolate or cake or – does it matter?

It vanishes.

Then the guilty aftertaste

And looking down, seeing:

Flibbedy flabbedy rolling skin

In these curves – not curves, no

Bulges! God! Plump like jelly and pudding

(tasty pudding)

And now despair

Futile, silent laments

Brushing away the sinful, desperate crumbs

And then carry on eating.