There’s a fat man sitting alone
at the corner cafe
eating his curds and whey

His teeth are bright
a distinct shade of picket fences,
but he chews his food
as if he were gobbling ornaments
and licks the shiny metal
until his distorted reflection
no longer belongs to a spoon,
secretly wishing his physique were thin
like Mel Gibson or a young Marlon Brando,
but would settle for the abs of a skateboarder

His eyes are bruised
a violent shade of indigo,
yet he smiles at my frail frame
with each distasteful bite
and I cannot swallow the idea
that I’m part of the problem,
with the slightest gust of wind
my tiny body would blow                        far away
and he’d still be sitting alone
eating his curds and whey