Poetry Archives

With belly like a poisoned pup
     Said I: ‘I must give bacon up:
And also, I profanely fear,
     I must abandon bread and beer
That make for portliness they say;
     Yet of them copiously today
I ate with an increasingly sense
          Of grievous corpulence.

I like a lot of thinks I like.
     Too bad that I must go on strike
Against pork sausages and mash,
     Spaghetti and fried corn-beef hash.
I deem he is a lucky soul
     Who has no need of girth control;
For in the old of age: ‘Il faut
          Souffrir pour etre bean.’

Yet let me not be unconsoled:
     So many greybeards I behold,
Distinguished in affairs of state,
     In culture counted with the Great,
Have tummies with a shameless bulge,
     And so I think I’ll still indulge
In eats I like without a qualm,
          And damn my diaphragm!’