3WW: Figure, Juicy, Stress

We stopped at Juicy Lucy’s
for hamburgers
on our way to the boat.

I ate mine knowing I was adding
to my figure.
It’s so hard to say no.

So, I just go along
even when I don’t want to,
even when it causes me stress.

I could have ordered a salad.
I should have. Next time I will.
Really. The ketchup squeezes

out and the meat dances
with my tongue. Jimmy Buffett
sings on the radio,

the sun tiptoes across the ocean,
the boat bobs, waiting.
My husband grins

and I grin back then reach over
and wipe away a speck
of mustard from his smile.

Limits for Sunday Scribblings

Limits

I stand on the scale
in our school nurse's
office and hold my breath

hoping to weigh less
than last week. I'm
participating in our

version of The Biggest Loser
challenge. It's a support
group for those of us

who want to control
our weight. The nurse
asks what my goal

is for this the next eight
weeks. I'd like to lose ten
pounds and I could do it

but I know I'd put it right
back on. So, instead I say,
“Two pounds.” The nurse

looks at me with a funny look
on her face. “I know it's not
much” I say defensively.

“But, it's doable and I know
my limits.” I glance down
and see that I've lost

a pound since last week's
weigh-in. I smile all the way
to the lunch room.

Poetry Train: Fat Sestina

I wrote this one in school from 6 random words the kids chose.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Fat Sestina

Last night I had a cup of decaf coffee
with light vanilla soy milk as I sat in my jeans
after a long day of plant-
ing knowledge in the brains of teenage branches
who sat there like mountains
wishing they were on a playground,

instead. Well, I need a playground,
too, and I’m really wishing this coffee
had Bailey’s Irish Cream and a mountain
of whipped cream in it. But my jeans
are too tight so I have to diet by eating leaves from branches
and less fat and more plants.

It doesn’t seem fair that blubber planted
itself on me. I’ve become its playground.
It even sticks to the branches
of my arms. So, I’m sipping low-cal coffee
and unbuttoning my jeans
to allow the mountain

of my stomach some room. Losing weight is a big mountain
to climb but I just have to plant
one foot in front of the other. I could buy bigger jeans
but, no, I exercise like a kid in a playground
and drool while my husband enjoys coffee
ice cream. (I’d like to whip him with branches!)

Instead, I get up and branch
out for a walk up hills as steep as mountains
the color of coffee
and while I walk, an idea gets planted
in my head: I should open an adult playground
and maybe call it “Skinny Jeans”

because exercise helps even though I inherited the fat tummy gene
from my mom. So, if I want legs like branches,
I’ve got to open my playground
and climb over that chubby mountain.
When I reach the top, I’ll plant
a victory flag and have a Starbuck’s coffee

and buy new jeans and eat mountains
of dip until my branches begin to swell again and I’ll have to plant
myself back in the playground and go back to drinking weak coffee.

Day 7 NaPoWriMo

Theft

I’ve been stealing pounds
from my husband.

Each day when he goes
to work in the woods,

he loses a pound or two
and I find them

in the folds of his clothes.
I don’t mean to steal them

but they are like static
and cling to me.

Soon, though, I’ll start
returning them

when he sits on his boat
all summer.

I’ll tuck them into his
sandwiches

after shedding them
while on my bicycle.