**** robin wakes and greets the dawn
With high-pitched chittering;
Spindly legs bear his stout form
Across the frozen terrain;
Icy breezes ruffle rosy breast,
Blood red against the charcoal soil
And sugar-frosted shrubs;
He spies a lardy oasis
Strung from a barren branch
And breaks the night’s fast
With ravenous peck.
Close by, spider, aroused,
Dazzled by its diamond-studded abode,
Unfurls its legs to investigate
The solitude of its frozen labour.
Gazing down upon the scene,
The hazy moon,
Sickle of silver smudged
On sapphire sky,
Prepares to renounce its sentry duty
To the sun,
The glowing amber orb
On the horizon;
And so to bed Jack Frost,
Your toil is done.

I was there the day the sun
was a ****** embryo & you
finally awoke under sick blue
                                                mist.  

Do you recall when Nell’s femur
fractured  and she cried the way a cow
bawls  when it is realized the calf will be
                                  someone’s veal dinner.  

Do you think of these times
or has a lardy mealworm crawled within
your nasal cavity & inched into your brain
                                             to erase memories?

Gathering atop our 100 year old
dogwood, blackbirds beckon you daily
to return  to your home  of devastating
                                                              trauma.

I’m at (my roommate) Lisa’s for the holidays and it was Christmas Eve afternoon. I was in Leeeza’s room (Lisa’s 13-year-old sister). One corner of the room is all pillows. A hundred pillows or more - Disney pillows like Mickey and Minnie but shrek pillows too and penguin pillows, minion pillows, mario brothers pillows and novelty pillows that look like bags of doritos, cheetos and ramen noodle soup - just about every toy pillow you can imagine.

Leeza was there on the pile with me, watching “La La Land,” my favorite movie. Leeza had never seen it and I hoped she’d love it as much as I do. In the end, she pronounced it a new favorite.

Later (still Christmas eve) Lisa, Karan (her mom) Leeza and I made our way to a lardy-dardy rooftop event space called “The Skylark,” where Michael (Lisa’s dad) was co-hosting a Christmas party. The rooftop is on the 30th floor and everything there is made of glass - even the staircases.

When Lisa told me about the party (at school), I brought out a few Anna Molinari bits I had stored under my bed (when I realized Yale wear wasn't very fashionable). I ended up wearing a black lace party dress, a black knit crop cardigan cover and white, satin bridal shoes. It seemed very on point as a "Wednesday" look. If you haven't watched the "Wednesday" series on Netflix - It's fun.

As we arrived the sun faded, as if timed, and natural light gradually gave way to the cityscape of artificial light. Once it became fully-dark, New York city glittered around us, as if the stars had dropped from the heavens to join the party.

A brass and piano ensemble played seasonal classics like Prokofiev’s Troika as we (Lisa, Leeza and I) explored the venue. Every surface seemed decorated with poinsettias, candles, and ornaments or ribbed by garlands of balsam, spruce and fir that smelled incredible.

There were (guessing) about 200 guests and servers wound their way through the crowd with trays of cocktails and champagne. These waiters were all good looking, as if picked from the sea of actors, in New York, just waiting for that big Broadway break. At one point, Leeza, with a mischievous holiday gleam in her eye, reached for a flûte à Champagne only to have the waitress twirl, at the last millisecond, like a dancer, leaving her grasping at air, disappointed.

Michael’s company had set up a tall, white and gold Christmas tree, in a corner of the terrace, under it were packages, for special clients, so beautifully, individually and uniquely decorated that you could believe they were wrapped by angels.

The papering was exquisite, handmade, thick as Liva and embossed, inlaid or pebbled with gold. They were topped with bows, brooches, angels, or snowflakes of silver, rose-brass, batic silk and even crocodile.

No doubt the wrappings were as valuable as the gifts inside and though those presents enchanted, teased and cajoled us all, they were reserved for people on the very, very nice list (a cop stood discreetly by). We were briefly transfixed by the spectacle, but the spell was broken when Leeza said, “I’m hungry.”

Cocktail parties are for adults, so after we ate, Karen stayed with Michael and the teenagers were sent home. We didn’t mind, after all, none of those presents were for us - our day would be Christmas!

Happy holidays!

I’ve had enough. I’ll eat no more;
my bloated waist is very sore
and second helpings, not so wise
when all my jeans have shrunk a size.

I will not take another ****
and lardy cakes, I’ll never start.
No cocktail snacks will pass my lips,
nor will I nibble cheesy dips.

No more the joys of Sunday roast,
instead it’s herbal tea and toast.
I have this strong, profound belief
I can live off a lettuce leaf.

Resistance takes an iron will
and abstinence a real skill.
But sticky donuts do look fun,
I think I’ll have another one.

                     ~

Once upon a time, a long , long time to come
A man invented 'vacuum drain'. Yes, that's it's name.
It pumped out fat. Human fat. Fancy that!
He hoped to make a fortune slimming us
It oozed out ****
That poured in vats, all sorts of fats;
Brown and viscous, white and lardy,
He worked so hard he
Didn't think things through.
The vats just grew.
And then he knew what he could do!
He'd sell it on! He'd make a bomb!
It worked a treat
The excess meat
Could feed a nation
A neat equation!

Fat westerners just couldn't wait
To line up and donate.
They even paid its fare
To take it anywhere
But on their bones
So..... Lean and svelte and handsome
They gave it all....and some
To feed the poor and dig into their land.
The idea was so grand
That it caught on
And all around the world the fat was shifting.
So many westerners were gifting
That share prices took a drop.
First slimming world went bust
And all the diet companies shut up shop.
Cheap labour went back home to families big and hearty
Who probably had a party
To celebrate their luck.

But.. Oh dear me!
The poor economy!
A tax was levied on the draining oil
To try and spoil
The benefits of losing weight
The media filled its screens with chubby faces
Fat people now appeared in all important places
But still the people shrank
To be quite frank
They had to sell the fat
to pay the vat.

Fat cats ( now thin) jumped in to run the racket
They hoped to make a packet,
But now the tide began to turn
The fat was used to burn
As fuel. The oil wells closed, the mines shut down
And people learned to burn their own fat too
No middle men, no ads campaigns, no V.A.T.
Just drainage after tea.
So little waste (waist)
(Spell it as you like, it's all the same)

.......now play the game
And carry on this fantasy
Where could it end?
If you have more, just add it on, my friend.....

The bitter pills and the ruins of cotton mills where dreams where played out on looms and woven in the semi gloom of a half lit room by children so old,who were told to do as was told or don't do at all.

Some escaped to the drudgery of the great hall where Lord Diddlywhat would squat and pass praises like water to some lacklustre daughter of a man in the town,
half a crown a month and eighteen hours a day,threepence in the offertory on a Sunday to pray for deliverance.
Though none would come for the sun didn't shine on me and mine,only on them,
lardy arsed gentlemen,willowy ladies with squawking fat babies and nannies,grannies in every nook and cranny who fed on the fat of the land,
took the bread from our hands
took the love out of life and the life of our loves,
iron fists in silken gloves.

Now finished,
the thoughts of those times diminish with age but the rage still holds true against the blue stockinged brigade
who would raid on us,put the shade on us,despise and degrade us,use and then beat us,contused and confused we would still go and labour,
wrap ourselves in the looms and in half lit bits of the day,we thought it was the only way,
'til the war came
changed the rules of the game
it was never the same after that little spat
and we spat at the gentry
who stayed behind to do sentry duty as their duty demanded.
We branded them
the landed men
wouldn't work for them no more.
Let them go hang and sing for their supper
we'll scupper them yet,
but I forget
the fat don't get wet
they float.

Stuck coming down the slide
since lockdown made my *** too wide
when I was bored and trapped inside,
eating home made cake and bread
has caused my lardy bits to spread
I should have munched on fruit instead