APOLOGIES TO THE MORBIDLY OBESE,
THOSE TRAGIC ROMANTICS
Matthew Lee Bain
Upon the couch, deep in
the heart of the book store,
Facing the romance section,
I compose apologies lost-
To those who search for titles like
“The Sweaty Native” or
“Trail Dust in my Bronzer.”
Apologies to those tragic romantics-
Who smile with plethoric faces-
Who smile like the moon when
They find their temptation on cardstock.
Buffalo humps rise and fall with their
Tachycardia and tachypnea.
Apologies like-
I'm sorry that there's no one
To sweat upon you; fantasies only produce
Personal perspiration.
Apologies like-
I'm sorry that there's no one
To pinch your chubby cheeks, not unlike flews-
I'm remorseful that there's no one
To slap your widespread(like an epidemic)
Hindquarters and hang ten on the fleshy bore
Of their wavelike creation-
No one to caress the boils on your visage
Or to apply love lotion to your cobwebbed thighs.
Never fear; keep turning pages;
Keep sweating profusely to the word paintings
Of authors as corpulent as yourself
With characters named Biff Glands and
Johnson Brachia.
Apologies like-I haven't a pearl of love
To dribble on you,
And believe it or not,
I am sorry...and thankful at the same time.
