One of my favourite ways of passing the time

Is chasing imagery and hunting down rhyme,

But as this takes place inside my head

It’s not enough, or so my doctor’s said.

Poetry feeds my brain and soothes my soul

But it doesn’t help much towards my fitness goals.

 

If only flexing words could take inches off my thighs!

If only shaping verses was more than mental exercise!

Then losing weight would be a doddle

I’d be as slender as a supermodel.

And on catwalks throughout the land, poets slim and fair

Would be tugging at your heartstrings - and at the same time modelling underwear.

And creative writing workshops would be able to propose

To help you free your inner poet and also lose the kilos.

 

If only somehow my poetic muse

Could stop me eating biscuits, or get me off the booze

Then I could look forward to life being healthy and long

Literally - or literarily - just for the price of a song!

 

But hey.

Would I rather be skinny, and have nothing to say?

Would I trade a way with words and the gift of the gab

For an easy means of shifting some flab?

Stretch marks are annoying, of that there is no doubt

But my brain would explode if it didn’t get its poetic workout.

In the gymnasium of language, access to nearly all is free

And we can drink at the fount of others for nowt or minimal fee

We can expand our minds and our souls, and it's all zero calorie!

 

Now, I’m far from being sugar free or low fat

I’ve got curves instead of corners, I’ve got to learn to live with that.

But I’ve got words, and words have weight, but they can also reach great heights:

Poetry may not burn calories, but it can help us to see the light.

 

© Becky Who 2018