Poem: January 11, 2020

Flabby

So easily it comes to this:
rotund profile,
straining at the waist,
and just a little more winded
when walking up the stairs.

So easy to forgive yourself
a second serving of potatoes,
another handful of salt,
ice cream and brownies
again tonight.
A bigger dish, a bigger spoon.

So easy to sit and to forget
to stand and walk around,
to forego the stroll,
to fail to go spend the hour
sweating at the gym.

So easy to just grow and grow
and ignore the aches
and trouble bending down
to reach the thing there
on the floor.

So easy to accept fatigue
and boredom, to choose
the couch and refuse to reach
for something more,
and to let exhaustion fill
your hours and eat its way
into your core.