I am what I am

 

December 26, 1981

 

It is the day after Christmas and all through the land, there are people with headaches and aspirin in hand. There those in their kitchens with turkey or ham left over from yesterday but still in the pan. And most people there watch their middles expand from the potatoes and dressing that does with their ham. And I not being just who I am, watch to see my own middle expand. Pauly and Garrick say that they understand that with the holiday trimmings we all can expand. But I think maybe I’ll take it in hand and tighten this belt around all that I am. Oh the good habits in good faith I began change with bad habits the fabric of man. I’ll give it an inch which will go if I ran. I won’t say I’ll promise but I promise I am to cease with excuses and shut out the sham. I’ll cut down the fat and get into hand, the waist of this girth that threatens this man. A year ago for miles I ran, but no longer keeps pace with this mile-worn man, who ran and ran, and again he still ran, and knows it is larger and larger I am, with excuses for fat that grows on my hams, my mouth gobbling food I feed with my hands, oh as much as I want to change who I am, alas it seems beyond all that I can, growing into a barrel of a man, my friends are all laughing and I understand, there’s more to see of this little man. But sadly I fear to join that proud clan, eaters anonymous and the rattle of tin cans, tossed into trash as fast as I can, but the weight shows just who I am, and while I am sitting with veal and with ham, the fixing of dinner on fork in my hand, “I’ll lose it by morning,” I say as I plan, to run in the morning if I still can, push from the table with trembling hands, I think it’s brown rice, yogurt and bran that till help stop this constant expand, as Garrick and Paul mock at my plan as I struggle once more to find who I am, a promise no treats between meals’ span, I won’t eat all if I possibly I can, at stuff myself full of wondrous bran, and remind myself how noble I am when I trim down this notorious span, but when I’m down to the very last can of sugar free soda and food I can’t stand, will I be as pretty as I think I am, skinny as a pole in the mirror I stand while all my friends middles continue to expand beyond anything anyone understands, while I stuff my face always with bran and when someone asks me who I think I am, I say much less I am of a man, much better off for lack of turkey and ham, a slender figure in mirror I am, with no leftovers waiting in the frying pan, no sweet meats to tempt me, no desert to expand, just skinny old me taking my life in my hands.