I’m a tuber eater
And that doesn’t make me a
Starch reservoir. I’m just fat,
As fat as the keg flowing with
Enchanting liquids.
Yes, I’m a drunk that doesn’t know
Right from left, when inebriated,
An obese drunk to be precise.
And in this conscription of weight
You look at the fat blobs
And stretch marks, and decide
“must kill the cumbersome” to feel
Like a little dragon fly, whose eye pop out in habit
As my eyes do, when caressed
By curvy women. I do little
To shed my fat and what am I,
But a prince of adipose who poses for pictures
With the tummy tucked in.
Creepy the way how fat swims
Around the lean cuts. The muffin
Top as notorious as a jumping
Whale. My blubber, is my
Beauty though, the timber of my bough.
Concentric rings that gives a number;
Dendrochronology sculpted
By deposits of age.
