I gave up booze this year, and with that potato chips and those midnight slices of pizza that went so well with a nice dark ale. Dropped fifteen pounds so far. This poem was written last year, one pant size ago, and I'd like to dedicate it to an ex-barhead buddy of mine, Bill.

Here I am
two hundred plus pounds
of badly distended reality
my belly a large panelled bay window
of poorly considered dietary choices

Every morning
I rise and get my cat
to read the numbers
on the bathroom scales
(she lies, I tell you she lies)

I've got a photograph of my belt buckle
in my memory album
my shoelaces
toes and dick
as well

Maybe once a week
I get inspired
and promise that tomorrow
I'll watch my weight
now that I've got it out where I can see it

I'm talking abs of steel
jogging and sit ups
crunches and weight lifting
and above all else
a strict caloric intake

But first I need
just one more slab of steak for strength
and french fried potatoes because vegetables are good for you
a little cole slaw for roughage
some beer and my god apple pie

I'm hungry for life
and all the pizza pie
I can cram into it
somebody has to keep
the Canadian beef farmers in business.