chewing the fat
i never count the calories
in a glass of wine
a six pack of beer
or scotch on the couch after work
but i probably should at my age
it’s the hamburger that i worry about
wednesday pizza binges
and hunks of cheddar cheese on saltine crackers
growing up a fat kid
i was taught that too much of one thing
was bad for you
while too much of the other
was just a way of life
my brother, bless his soul
blames our old man
for his prescription pill abuse
although dad never did anything harder
than beer on the fourth of july
when i get drunk
or gorge from the fridge
i sometimes think about my grandfather
and the way he used to wake up
smelling like day old bread
to eggs and bacon and home fries
with the coffee boiling on the stove
as my grandmother sipped whiskey
and figured out her numbers
how he silently put all of the food into one mound
eating it with salt, pepper and globs of ketchup
good health be damned
before heading outside
to kill the day drinking a case of beer
beaching himself like a whale
with a humongous tan belly
on the corner of a corroded
picnic bench
the sun beating down on him
as it moved across the sky
marking the hours
until dinner and the evening news
how i always wanted to try
a life like that
free of worry and cholesterol
only i was too sensitive and vain
i never had the guts
for that sort of thing.
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