Soggy Doritos
I like soggy Doritos, I will not lie,
For in a taco salad, they're the apple of my eye.
I like them fresh out of the bag, as perfect as it seems,
But in a taco salad, the soggy chip is queen.
I slather on the sour cream and hot sauce just to boot,
Sending both my waistline and my blood count through the roof!
I've been known to devour a whole bag in a day,
Till my checking account is empty and I'm walking with a sway.
I love the tangy chip, I surely do,
Either from the bag or in a bowl. With a Mountain Dew.
But by far, the very best of the chip,
Is in a taco salad so soggy you can't dip.
Back to work after 3 weeks off
Got a taste of retirement
Do I like it?
I don’t know
Get up when I want
No schedule
Eat whenever I want
And whatever I want
Go wherever I want
Freedom
Got a taste of freedom
But is it freedom?
Is it freedom when you have to watch what you spend?
Is it freedom when you watch your waistline
and see it going east and west?
Is it freedom when you have to be the one who makes the contact
for either friendship or advice
as you have no one to talk to
as everyone is either at work
or work from home?
Freedom freedom
I want freedom
I want it now so I can enjoy it
before I get so sick and can’t go anywhere
I want it now now that I have the time and the money
so that I can enjoy it
Yes friend I am all for it
If you can enjoy it without the headache and the worry
of where your money goes
and whether it will be enough
to take you by
Don’t retire if you have these worries
Not worth it
Work until you can’t work it no more
Or until you are the one who is calling the shots
Or until God takes you home
Whichever the earliest and the fastest
Go with that route
As for me - I would be the one who calls the shots
Or Am I?
MIDNIGHT MUNCHIES! I’M IN A TERRIBLE JAM….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At midnight, my stomach grumbled
With snacks in the pantry, I fumbled
On the shelves high and low,
Chocolate cookies. Say no!
But tripped on my cat and then tumbled!
Toward the fridge I tiptoed with glee,
For it holds a treasure trove for me.
There's a jar of sweet jam, tight
I’m stuck with tasteless yam, terrible plight!
With spoon and my cravings, an eating spree!
Oh, the brownies were calling my name.
They ‘made me’ lose the dieter’s game.
Each chocolate bite I took,
My belly constantly shook,
Now my waistline will never be the same!
A "healthy" shake bought,
Packed with sugar, fruit, and more,
Waistline stays the same.
©bfa030325
Her shocks poured forth like a midnight oil spill,
body buckling like a sapling in a tornado, cracked like a Grecian museum urn. Moonflower extended limb petals, hips arched, limbs touched the nightfall floor. Her firehouse quaked primal.
Waistline oscillated, packed rigid. Gasps defibrillated, beasts fought through tight ribs,
Midriff dilated, injected, probe swelled with force.
Her breath hung heavy, smoke in a chimney,
Drumbeats drumming on her global map, sweat beaded like molten glass.
Weary rasps of elation caterwauling,
guttural sounds spilled from her chest.
Not when I started to show it
not when I’d lost a step or two
Not when my memory would lapse
not when my waistline grew
Not when others began to snicker
not when my bladder started to flicker
Not when I had more hair on my hands than on my head
not when I’d get sick and wish I were dead
Not when all these things happened to me
did I ever attribute them to age
Teachers told me I’d grow wiser with each passing year
Hmm. I must have already passed that phase
Outstretched on all toes and both elbows
How long will the body remain suspended, only a man's will knows
Blood pressure and stress coming down
In this ephemeral stillness, better health is found
With deep breaths in and long breaths out
Better posture and balance are achieved, no doubt
Elevated focus, awareness, and a waistline that's shrinking
Never mind the stoically static body that's away from the floor, just know the owner is planking
It can travel upward and inward or downward and outward
Once bestowed this gift, man must decide whether to go forward or backward
Whether to go back or forth, many men will never ponder or know to ask
And maybe, just maybe, if they do know, they also know it may be a Sisyphean task
Nevertheless, the gift whether used or abused, is real
It is evident in how man looks, acts, and feels.
Santa with his ruby-red cheeks and robust waistline sliding down the chimney
With his claustrum bag, he's jolly and bearing gifts of plenty
But not just on the 25th of December
Santa delivers all year in the Hope that man will know and remember
Yes!
It gives and it keeps on giving whether acknowledged or appreciated
But oh, too often it's not so it's foolishly deleted
Man's gift, the sweet essence of life that sustains
Handsomely, it rewards but only if he retains
Have you ever had
A bag of potato chips
A glass of smoky wine
Halfway through
Wanting for more?
Have the rest of the bag
Drink the whole bottle
There’s wisdom in saturation
Joy in the overflowing cup
Have your chips and eat it too
Let the cup overflow till
Ruby puddles on a carpet
Chiplets scattered on shag
How else do you know
Half-empty or half-full?
How does rock bottom
Know, if you’ve hit the center?
The extra pounds tattle tells
The stain on the carpet knows
When saturation is not enough
It’s dangerous to get it all
Potato chips Grubhub away
There’s always a bigger cup
Let them joyride to you despite
Floods in the brain with dopamine
How else does the spill know the rim
How does satisfaction know the edge?
Boundaries untested will tempt
Saturation will continue to entice
Knowing enough is true wisdom
The stained carpet will tell you
The waistline will confess
You’ve reached beyond saturation
Penury is natural like drought then
Missing won’t feel like missing out
When the bottle is nearly empty
When there are just crumbs
I'll savor what remains
Put them aside for tomorrow
I'll saturate them with temperance
Swiss Cheese
Pretty please
Porous holes
Help with goals
Patty melt
Waistline svelte
Price is low
Way-to-go
From a much younger man
my waistline did expand,
have no offer of excuse,
for some cookie abuse.
Simple tasks done with ease,
are no longer a breeze,
having tried, but I fail,
to even clip my toenails.
I'm quite ashamed to admit,
that I used to be fit,
dealing now, this eclipse,
of once seen naughty bits.
The new shape that is forming,
now my clothes nonconforming,
no good reason of worth,
for the birth of my girth.
Dress De Flor
Red Gladiolus
is the flower of August,
fashion fabulous.
A dressmakers dream?
Spaghetti stringed halter top,
and blouson waistline
Made of real flowers?
Fabrics wired to flare-up,
then crimped and dyed red.
The store owner's son
placed an order for a gown.
Dressmakers fear him.
"I want to impress,
have it ready by Sunday"
For your fiancée?
I’ll start right away.
"It’s for her bridal shower.
Just have it ready"...
..."I’m back for the dress.
It looks just like the picture.
I’m surely impressed.
How will she sit down?"
Just not on her derrière,
There was no time left
I Worked day and night
With the few days you gave me
Forgive me please sir.
Best for her to stand all day.
"Stupid is as stupid does,"
Isn't that what people say?
How hard it must be for many,
Just to make it through the day.
"Wake up and smell the coffee,"
Or so the saying goes.
To improve your situation,
You've got to follow your nose.
How about "Catch as catch can,"
I've heard that one before.
Do the best that you can do,
Or you might wind up on the floor.
"My eyes are bigger than my stomach,"
That practice will never last.
By the look of that swollen waistline,
Maybe it's time that you should fast.
Less than flattering waistline
mocks ever-thinning hairline
Disappearing gray matter
makes head look even fatter
The back of Dad's chair is black like a void,
its mid discontinuous of solid support.
Cushion coils creak as his weight shifts,
his interest unhinged from light hypnosis.
The scuff of rough wheels rub fine lines in
encumbering crumb-crusted floorboards,
which mundanely sustain the weight
of a burdened waistline and wasted years.
He forfeits the fortunes of a father: favor and honor,
as points tabulate and clock ticks wick up
the last of my sapped up, tapped out tears.
His glowing, giddy face is unfazed,
too focused on fantasies to notice me.
Dad's back trespasses my passive stares,
his incessant inattentiveness ingrained
like the prison-bar stripes on the back of his chair.
10/5/2022
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