Tag Archives: poem about overeating

Thanksgiving with the Neighbors

Thanksgiving with the Neighbors

Rendered farctate by turkey and gravy and dressing,
I overindulged, I am hereby confessing.
When they pressed more upon me, I didn’t demur.
I ate all the turkey that I could endure,
but then when they asked if I’d have a bit more,
although  I was already stuffed to the core,
I said, “Maybe a little,” and with no compassion,
they piled on potatoes in an equal fashion.

More gravy, cranberries and more candied yam,
and lest they discriminate, a bit more ham.
So in that yearly paradox, they proceeded to stuff
first the turkey, then me, until I’d had enough.
And though I declared  I was ready to burst,
when they brought out the pie, although I had rehearsed,
“None for me,” in my head, when they asked, “mince or peach?”
I’m embarrassed to say that I had one of each!

Then I lay on the floor and simply digested
as some guests told stories that other guests bested.
But since I had already been over-fested,
I admit my attention was under-invested.
I tried to moan silently, but fear I failed.
In the end, I complained and I groaned and I wailed.
Yet my friends showed no mercy, but proceeded to laugh
and inquire if I’d rather have caf or decaf!

Then they rolled me next door to my own waiting bed,
where I passed half the night feeling overly-fed.
But by the the next morning, I was ready for toast
some bacon and eggs and a lovely French roast.
And I was bemoaning when time came for lunch
that there were no leftovers on which to munch—
No turkey and stuffing. No leftover pie,
so I had to make do with carry-out Thai.

 

 

Prompt words today are compassion, paradox, demur and farctate.

Lack of Willpower During the Coronavirus Sequestering: My First Two Excuses.

Lack of Willpower During the Coronavirus Sequestering:
My First Two Excuses

I’ ve run out of storage for all the provender
I bought in advance, thinking chances were slender
that in a month there’d be staples enough.
I thought that the going was going to get tough.

So with my freezer full and no cupboard space free,
the only place to store food in is me.
I forage on fudge and I’m gorging on chips—
storing them here on my waist and my hips.

Please come to my rescue. I’m tortured by guilt.
Last year at this time I was pleasantly built,
but this forced isolation obliterates “no”
as an answer to chocolate and cookie dough.

You may be amused by my failure at coping,
but I am not drinking and I am not doping.
It isn’t my fault. I’m a victim of fate.
It’s my body that’s yearning to assimilate

cookies and candies and pastas and pies.
It’s my body’s fault that I’ve grown a size.
With no one to stop me, I’ve just given in.
I guess you’d describe me as formerly thin!

 

Words for the day are rescue, torture, obliterate, assimilate and amused.