Fat molecules – like books levitating
in search of library shelf-space,
or a horde of mosquitoes
seeking a succulent limb ,
or young parents casing suburbs
anxious for a place to live –
they float in my blood stream:
where should they locate?
Which is the best neighbourhood?
Where might their children
thrive at school? In the seclusion of
upper-crust Cellulite City
or, less propitiously,
among the suburbs dubbed
the Western Middle-age Spread?
Whatever, but not, please God, down there
on the Atheroma Plains!
Even if the crisis of
accommodation is resolved
they face lean times
if I lose weight…
Fat lot he or she knows
who claims the world of molecules
is free of existential angst.
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