The Diet
His mind is heavy
the body just lingers on and on,
with eyes that pierce the darkness
he crouches menacingly,
lower and lower he sinks
his knees accept the floor.
He checks out the mirror
cannot believe he’s in there,
this fuel that is needed
is it for self indulgence?
While everyone still thinks he cares.
His mind creates the succulence
the body takes the strain,
his illness now known to be fatal
it’s on T.V everyday,
blindly he stumbles
someone left out a chair,
he craves for compensation
knowing he’s almost there,
his hand does tremble
his grip beyond doubt,
a sharp pull upon the magnetic door
gives him a shout,
the light is excruciating
brilliant and bright,
fried chicken looks so lovely
plump and. Oh! Just right.
© Harry J Horsman 1993
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