Guzzler's Ghazal

By Alyssa Lane

Analog scales cannot be trusted. The red dial twitches, fickle shifts allowed,

dependent on carpet or uneven grout. I refuse to gain another pound.

 

Canvas shorts make mockeries of women with thick thighs. They used to not ride up 

so high when I would stroll  around. I refuse to gain another pound.

 

Veet is the depilatory cream I smear on my dilapidated legs because smoothness 

distracts from the size of my thighs, now cumulus clouds. I refuse to gain another pound.

 

Pools to fat girls are sets for a feature arcs in My 600 Pound Life, complete with crumbs 

stuck in your belly rolls and voyeurs gawking from the crowd. I refuse to gain another pound.

 

Dressing rooms are all-telling mirrors illuminated by fluorescent self-degradation. 

My nakedness, round, triggers the vicious thoughts to sprout. I refuse to gain another pound.

 

Mailbox full of British chocolate bars is my dad saying I miss you, love you as you are. 

Between crumpled wrappers and toffee teeth I shout, “I refuse to gain another pound!”

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