I listen as
The girl in the café
Tells her friend
She has checked herself into the clinic
For anorexics
Bodies whittled down
To the sort of perfection
That attracts standing ovations
I feel a twinge
Of jealousy
For her brittle bones
The coat hanger body
That slips so easily into
Skinny jeans
The body that has consumed itself
To virtual oblivion
On a steady diet of 500 calories a day
Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels
Says the leader
To the assembled
Gathered in the church hall
For their weekly sermon
We nod our heads obediently
Committed to making the sacrifices
Required for a skinny life
I watch the old men
Spread comfortably in their chairs
Lines and rolls
Of flesh
Which they unapologetically feed
With a steady diet of coffee and cake
It is a happy life
2 comments:
I love this poem so much. I disagree completely that nothing tastes as good as skinny feels ... To me, skinny felt fragile, low-energy, childish. Weighty feels strong, powerful, healthy, energetic, and pleasurable. (I should point out that I'm a lot fitter now than I was when thin - my body just does more, and moves more, than in those whisper days).
Besides, cake tastes seventeen kinds of good :-)
This is great!
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