Miss Fatso

She hides food in her dresser drawer, The kind that never spoils: Processed cheese food, candied cakes, All wrapped in cellophanes and foils. She hides food in her glovebox To wolf at the next red light. She hides food in her pillowcase To make it through the night. She's learned to eat potato chips Yet never make a sound, But with every swallow she feeds the fire And gains another pound. Jellies and jams and all kinds of preserves Give her the shape that she knows she deserves, And her fingers are sticky with candy and gravy, She's a JuJube freak and a chocolate baby. Malted and splits and pizzas and pie, Cookies and French fries are her lullaby. Oh somewhere deep inside her Are the questions she can't ask: What would it feel like to see her own rib, Or bend to complete a task? What would it be like to fast for a week? To stroll down a beach without shame? To slip through the door of a dimly lit club And have some tall stranger ask her name? She mulls on these thoughts as she shovels in lunch: Three cheeseburgers washed down with beer. There's a crowd at the door and they laugh as she leaves But she's too fat to even hear. Then she goes home at night To a fridge full of food And she flops on the floor as she eats it. Oh deep down inside her's a beautiful girl - Please, God, hurry the day that she meets it.