I now take stubborn belly fat in stride.
Hip to its extra-existential weight,
my sit-ups notwithstanding, I still hide
its bulge as best I can. What human freight
resists the crunch, the run, the walk, the bike
as though exertion falls on stone-eared hips;
impervious to fast and hunger strike
or cutting down on Lay’s potato chips?
Fat chance I’ll buckle to this rubber ring,
a man who’s logged a lifetime being slim.
I dare say I could dine on not-a-thing
and still comport this belt-defying rim.
What fatty tissue issues forth this swell?
All fat should burn in gyms — or burn in Hell.