Fluctuate
They say a woman’s body is always
shape shifting, the weight will
fluctuate, perhaps drastically
in the matter of only several days.
Saturday
after a night of heavy
binge drinking, I am 145,
barely alive and bleary eyed. I
can’t stand still for long
in front of the mirror
with my sweating
and stumbling.
the heat the rum creates
kills the calories
when my body is its own
standing room only
sauna.
Sunday
147.
I would like to exfoliate
a pound off of every problem area
but sugar scrub was exiled
from my bathroom when the
ants came marching in, sniffing
and hungry with a mean
Bath and Body Works craving.
I am sympathetic to their dilemma
despite their intentions.
Monday
these days are already
dreaded enough
without a weigh in.
today what weighs heavy
is my general
indifference
to this experiment.
Tuesday
150 is a number I can
appreciate.
easily divided
by increments of five, decided
and sturdy like my hips
when both my feet
are firmly planted.
despite not liking 150
I know it's a number
that won't stand for being bullied.
Wednesday
152. too much
of something good
can be a bad thing but don’t tell me
that when I give into the tiramisu
I’ve been eyeing.
Trying to stop
is like telling a lover five more minutes
in bed in the morning
when the alarm is blaring...
which brings us to
Thursday
149 is the number I would
have seen on the scale if
I had stepped on it
but ignorance is bliss
and a weigh in would kill
the possibility of morning sex.
as we know from my numbers,
I do not abstain
from indulgence.
is for coffee drinking and coffee is
a diuretic and if I go on a liquid diet
today that starts with dark roast
and ends with dark ale maybe I’ll be
back at last week’s 145 if I combine that
routine with some cardio
dancing.
