My mother shared her people-watching skills
with me, in airports, shopping malls, subways.
Conjecturing on strangers gave her thrills;
her plans for their improvement would amaze
and make me note her subjects were obese –
she whispered overloud about their fat.
She dreamed of make-overs; even her niece
was not exempt from body-shaming chat.

Mom’s attitude infected sight and sound.
I learned to notice blubber and despise
my own increasing thickening. I found
my image was more ugly to my eyes
than any heavy other’s was. Her game
was mean; the harshest curse is auto-shame.