Food Glorious Food

I've nothing useful to say for myself.

Really.

But hey, just so you know I'm not dead, here's a poem I wrote as I waited in line at Weight Watchers feeling fat, bolshy and proud.

(It's not really finished, and doesn't really know where it's going. But it's not exactly Heaney, so I don't think anyone will mind...)

Food Glorious Food

We weight our turn
chain gang slumping
getting to the top of the q
mumbles of how our week was.
Rumbled tumbles
Grumbled tummies
Patronised by the middle aged
skinny matron who, she simpers,
was once like us.

Like us fat. Rotund. Chubby
Flabby, flubby, big boned
Big bummed, big untoned dummies.
Cakes ingesters, chocolate investors
Sweetie, treatie, yummy infesters.
coffee slice assassins
cupcake connivers
lowfat survivors
sugar muggers
hydrogenated huggers
sluggish metabolisms inherited from our mothers.
cadbury addicted
haribo afflicted
willing to risk it, for just one more biscuit
Happy to scoffy a bountiful banofee
inhale whole, those divine profiterole
tirismsu? How do you do!

But don't forget our slavery to
our other pal savoury
mash potato, cream
lustful dreams
of rashers and lashers of
buttery yum.
filling our greedy tums with
pasta, chips, crisps
curly fries
in quantities unwise
if its carbohydrate, I can't wait
I really, really like to clear my plate
A shamefaced calorific ingrate.

So, what is my fate, my destiny?
I think we all know it's unlikely to be skinny
Signing peace treaties with diabetes?
Not escaping sore thigh chaffing?
High cholesterol that says it all...
Plus Plus size, no surprise
oh the sugary butterly lies!


So, in summation,
To tell the truth
I think I'll always indulge my
sweety tooth
I'll always choose those chocolate eclairs
even if it means employing a sherpa
for the second floor stairs
Or shame of shame
having to buy two of those Ryanair chairs.