Regretful I am of my plot to be free.
I’ll tell a sad tale of my belly and me.
Think of a beach ball just sitting atop
my long, skinny legs in a massive outcrop
of flesh that has rudely extruded and lives
surrounding my navel. I asked him, “What gives?
“I didn’t invite you to take residence
right there in the front with such size. No offense,
but you’re rather unsightly, I wish you’d be gone.
Just leave me alone, and desist hanging on.
I think you should find a good place that would beckon,
like under a pig to make bacon, I reckon.
“I think it’s unfair you’re now picking on me
for eating six cookies along with my tea.
Cheeseburgers, French fries, and doughnuts have never
plagued me ‘til lately. And nor have I ever
maintained the physique you so cruelly provide--
a lowercase “b” I look like from the side.”
So, that’s what I told him, and then came to mind
a redistribution plan bound to define
a brand new, spectacular shape! With elation,
I pondered a sweeping new configuration
with massive new arms and a chest with such bulk,
I’ll be looking just like The Incredible Hulk!
For right then outside they were paving my street.
My plan was quite simple and really quite neat.
I lay on fresh asphalt, as you may have guessed,
to wait for the steam roller man to come press
my belly fat into my chest and my arms,
but when he was done, I looked down with alarm!
Bypassing my chest, it went straight to my head.
It’s now Betty Boop who I look like instead!
