Ode to a stomach
Michael has many, many fine qualities (of course that's why I married him) but he's also had one obsession I'd rather he didn't have since the day we met my stomach, or I should say, the size of it.It has beenknown for him to shout, "STOMACH" across a crowded room if he spies nicely-rounded curves rather than a flat board the sign for me to suck in immediately. Slight pressure then that I try to keep it flat at all times. Fine in theory but not in practice: Michael is a chefextraordinaire(and somehow expects me to eat his delicious meals without putting on an ounce);I adore chocolate, indeed I need chocolate to keep me calm and happy; and I've moved into that stage in life when 'muffin top' has become my nickname. Say no more.
I wrote this poem for Michael, to mark twenty years of the ins and outs of my stomach. I fear things will never change
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ODE TO A STOMACH
Oh stomach, how you make my life hard,
I can see right through your shallow faade.
I was so nave and never knew
How vital it was if ever you grew.You have muscles there, I am almost sure.
(Mmm, that's a bit of a lie they we're always poor.)
I try to work out to keep you small,
But one tiny chocolate seems to kill it all.
I suspect the real problem, if I may be so bold,
Is that ones never enough, but that's how they're sold!
And I have to eat it, to keep me calm;
You will hear no temper; it's my secret balm.
And when you are spied from across a room,
Dont feel flattered, it means only doom,
For you are so gross in your stretched gown,
Better to hide than be banished from town.
That Michael, it's all his fault!
Your Michelin tyres will never halt
From growing, because his cuisine
Is always deliciously fit for a queen.
And you cannot refuse; that would be rude.
You are very partial to such scrummy food.
After hours of preparing, the love and the care,
Only to spurn it, that wouldn't be fair.
Hey, you know what? I'll eat what I want!
Well, you go ahead, just know that I'll flaunt
Every inch that you've gained; it's always a pleasure
To see your face when Michael then measures.
"But they say food is about conversation,
And love dies with chatters cessation.
So surely that means I must eat,
In order, in his eyes, to remain forever sweet?
So stomach, I regret your life is cut out;
To be loved profusely, be charming and gay,
Your plight will continue forever a day.
And to you, dear Michael, please understand
A stomachs dilemma is the worst in the land:
Be round, happy, chatty and fun? Or the food to ditch
To be flat and loved, but dull, and quite frankly a bitch.
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Posted in Recreation Post Date 12/15/2024