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Poem

I’m getting fatter and fatter with each passing day,
And my chest looks like breasts perhaps a child might say,
But when I think of the people that cannot eat at all,
Who cannot work from trouble and the pain of life’s falls,
Then I tell you in an instant, I am thankful for every roll,
Cause it speaks to my privilege from much of life’s toll,
And though my bills are unpaid,
And my cat needs a cage,
As he stains up my carpet with the rage of an age,
And though my daughter’s converting,
To be a Catholic sage,
What me worry? I tell you! 
For I bask in God’s glory,
And the rolls on my belly,
Like Santa Cluase Jelly,
Have me rolling in laughter,
Like a jolly old pastor,
So if disaster strikes you, like it has sometimes struck me,
And you are not so pretty or handsome to see,
Rejoice, I tell you in the fat and all that,
Cause at least you’re in the game and you’re up to bat,
And don’t think that tomorrow I won’t try to walk this off,
This cellulite that causes people to scoff,
But in the end my God loves me and that is enough,
That trumps being fat and all life’s little stuff,
That trumps being saddened by the ways of an age,
Cause hey, who knows at the turn of life’s page,
I’ll be back to 180 and benching 300,
And until then I’ll smile and rub on this tire,
I’ll run and perspire, and run and perspire,
And when it’s over, it’s over, and with an ado,
I’ll go home to the Lord and so will you!

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