Stella won’t ya take me home

 (I have no title for this)

When I am old, I will eat

whatever I want. Cake, french fries,
cookie dough, three french hens, two turtle
doves and a
partridge in a pear tree
they will not buy me a
(unless I request one doused in syrup
for a light
heavens no!, I intend to roll, like a
bowling ball with a face
down the hallways
to wherever my next meal is
I shall pass serenely
well fed and satisfied
to rest, not in a grave befitting the
but a crater
I’ve been thinking about the whole “Fat American” stereotype.  and poverty.  Also the elderly, because of course that is my job.