My own metabolism’s acting mean –
what is this one pound loss a week? A drop
of nothing in a bucket. I’m the queen
of calories; my chemistry can’t stop.
I cherish my obsession with my weight
more tenderly than children, for I own
this baby utterly, without a mate –
I play with it whenever I’m alone.

If there’s a wisdom in late parenthood,
perspective in the place of energy,
I postulate there’s recompense as good
in having one more turn at pulling me,
frustrated, through the coils of a maze
I seep to conquer in a thousand days.