A Coffee and a Cake in Costa

I Feel as though my poetry has been getting a bit heavy, political and depressing lately and that’s not the kind of person that I am, so here’s something a bit lighter…

I’m getting rather larger
My sugar is getting as high as a pensioner on weed
Or a gang of middle aged women, experimenting with speed
If I cut myself it would be glucose that I would bleed
And I’m acting like a politician with the gluttony and greed.

It’s my weekly trip to Costa
Which usually feels like a luxury
With my two shot latte and slice of carrot cake
And side of cream, calories of excessive buggary
But with this atrocious health scare discovery
And this blood test, blood test drudgery
Eating their cakes feels like wanton adultery
Its hell, starving myself, trying for a miraculous recovery.

So a two shot latte and a plate of nothing
Fresh air does not care how you fare
But my fat butt says ‘do it, you dare’
And my tummy agrees
As it sits on my knees
Citing weight watchers fees.
But I wear baggy clothes so its baggage that nobody sees.

I don’t do it for you, or for them
Or for notions of beauty or size, though my form does capsize
In the pool, though most people are nice
I don’t do it for the Instagram filter, duck pout prize.
Imagine if filters showed the ugliness of people, now there’s a surprise.

I’m doing it for me
For my kid
For the dangers to my health of which I want rid
I don’t want a ‘mum has died of diabetes’ kid
A ‘mum who is too obese to go outside’ kid
An ‘other kids take the piss’ kid
A ‘mum laying on a mortuary slab’ kid.

I’m doing it for me
And my kid

©2020 Sarah Drury

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