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The Web Poetry Corner - Monty Bing - Fat Chance
At one I gurgled 'gimme milk'.
At two I uttered 'gimme solids'.
At three I stumbled, fell, and bounced.
At four I was heard to announce 'I'm hungry'
'Saints alive'. My mother moaned. 'He's only five - yet weighs six stone.
Just eating... eating all the time.
(Thankfully seven ate nine).
Well ten grew bigger,
became a ten(t) -'twas all would fit
my ghastly girth -
and me barely eleven years since birth.
Oh woe - no mirth - just hungry self.
The wonder was how I reached twelve
without exploding, or overloading.
My flesh did ripple when running (or sneezing)
but oblivious was I to schoolyard teasing
for at thirteen (being an early starter)
I'd learned the tricks and skills of barter.
Action figures, pens and pencils,
miscellaneous sporting gear,
I'd swap with others for their lunch.
Ah... 'twas a finger-lickin' fourteenth year.
Just short of my fifteenth anniversary,
I encountered a most worthy adversary in the shape of...
Rosy-cheeked, jolly, padded, and sparkly.
She eyed up my lunch... I eyed her back darkly.
She lifted her hem-line... I lowered my eyes,
as I made to advance... she made off with my pies, and donuts,
and a half-eaten tart, but,
evil genius that she was,
she'd not only my food... she'd stolen my heart.
For now I was hungry, like I'd never been
and this was the truth, for my pulse set to racing
like rain on a roof, each time I would see her -
and see her I would - given our mutual longing for food
and the way such a longing would be manifest
in her longing for buns, while I preferred breast
of chicken (such as you've never seen).
With relish - and ketchup - I remember sweet sixteen.
Seventeen, though... was a year worth forgetting
for I still hadn't managed to control my sweating
of palms which, infernally,
led some to believe I was leaking internally
or simply melting, like a massive candle.
Oh... the names I could handle, like:
'bubble oh seven' (as in Bond, James Bond).
But it wasn't 'til eighteen it finally dawned
that my weight I could master.
I swore to myself that I'd become faster,
and fitter... by nineteen, a runner, a swimmer,
and, yessireebob, my girl - I would win 'er.
And that day I started to eat all my greens,
got fitter and stronger than I was in my dreams.
Where once fat had rolled... pectorals flexed.
No more would my breathlessness leave me perplexed.
The day came - the pounds went.
All the time I had spent was well worth the wait.
She'd've no need to circumnavigate
my ample protrudings so grandly upholstered.
I saw her approach, my new shape saw me bolstered
with a surge of morale. Palms dry... Here goes:
I strode up to my girl - her with cheeks of a rose.
I smiled with a wink, and showed her a pose with flexing aplenty.
As Adonis might've, were he here, and were he twenty.
'D'ya like what ya see?'... She stared in a silence.
'D'ya want what I've got?'... She knitted her brows.
'D'ya hear what I'm sayin'?'... She heard but said nothing.
I took a deep breath...
'D'ya wants t'get married... She held up her hand
Now please leave me alone.
I ain't never liked men with no meat on their bones.
Back off skinny. Go take a walk.
Go fill out that skin, then we can talk.".
The truth hit me hard with a sickening crunch...
she had never loved me...
only my lunch.
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