I keep trying to lose
the same
ten pounds every spring,
she says to you,
grabbing a rubbery
roll of blubber
around her yoga pants.
yup, you say, me too.
I'm still carrying
thanksgiving dinner
in here. you tap
your gut like a watermelon
ripened and ready
to burst.
what do we do? she says.
just what will we do?
I don't know, but
are you going to finish
that éclair, I'm
still hungry.
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