time was when my belly did not throw

a shadow

and wasn’t out warping the woof of my pants.

but sure as my hero is sweet rā

chel maddow

the shelf of my undergut looks me askance.

the trouble is that food is just meant to

be eaten

and I have forsaken such vices as gambling

so i have what’s fit for a glutton

to sweeten

my near-term desirings as through life

I’m shambling.

**

Afterword: I’ve racked up more than two years of compulsive-gambling sobriety, and I don’t smoke and rarely drink and don’t use any recreational drugs, but lately my eating habits have gotten excessive, which for a diabetic is at its very least mildly self-destructive. At the same time, though, it is hugely enjoyable, so there’s a quality-of-life struggle going on, complete with the creeping guilt that compels me to mutter “You Belly-Worshipper, you” as I waddle away from an all-you-can-eat buffet. So this blog post is my way of naming the beast that I hope to defeat.