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Food

My comfort, my joy

Oprah tells me its wrong to love it

Dr Atkins likes it - raw

Apparently my liver can be cleansed

Open chip packets cover

A Sunday afternoon loungeroom

Football and beer, mates over

We end it all with sausages and bread

Gleaming breast & thigh

Marinated to perfection and cooked

Slooooooowly, at 400 degrees

The flesh melts off the bone as I carve deeper

Denial, obedience, cheeky

Sneaking of chocolate bars

Hidden at the back of - pantries

Across the world full of Bridget Jones diets

A stink of barnyard

Animal fecal stench of ripe

A cow�s legacy, this mouldy piece

Of expensive and delicate French cheese

And the profundity!

Served and eaten by all

Just so - dictated by Mother�s manners

But the spills and thrills are evident on my shirt

Wallowing with tears

Sara Lee my friend on the couch

The world�s biggest tub, spoon stuck in

The corners of my mouth slick with caramel

My jailer, my deliverance

Trainer says it is my enemy

Lover says, I like your curves

I always go back for a second helping