the weight of this body pressed 
against the scale—all five-foot-eleven 

trudging on a hundred & three kilogrammes 
of meat & moobs & muscles 

missing, disappearing. casualty of late-night snacking, 
& the bait of redolent meals. a repeat delight 

even for this coming night. like clogged rotors needing engine 

oil, my gait stiffens, soured by a shapeless silhouette 
turgid on every front. I have kept in the rear 

of food and out of shot of the gym. this gym 
awaiting my return, begging for another glimpse,  

another degustation. it’s jealous 
of the ankle monitors laziness has on me. when my 

girlfriend teases but means, you’re getting fat, 
I nibble the critique. to be isn’t to become. 

I am what I eat & hate, a fright borne from every served 
plate, a flight from all edible things—a fight 

between thought & thirst, eyes & gullet—  
waste not, want not, what now? 

accepting this body is the first step to joy.