Glutton

Always the last to release his spoon, Still thinking it rather soon Or hand in the kitchen’s key, Now letting the poor thing feel free! The Unlikeliest to pity his jaw muscles, In all restaurants, a piece of eternal puzzle; Clearly prematurely visiting the pot To pointedly pounce on it on the spot. Often times, after a full tank Euphoric about a freshly served meal, For which his congested bowel doesn’t him thank; Rather ashamed of his food-seizing zeal… The mouthfuls mirroring a python’s swallows And straight gulps for which in penury he wallows. Fast becoming undersized are his shorts Spotting tens of tears in their flaps; To be soon discarded the recently bought By no means obliging him the gaps. While for him labour waits in a repository, Now and then charging into a lavatory To later surface at the sewage department All in a fleeting moment For the predictable muffled discussion Minus future precaution.