I’m a diet junkie,
a sucker for every new food plan that hits the streets, or the web.
Juice fasting, fruit smoothies, veggie shakes–I’m in!
Grapefruit diet, plant-based vegetarian or vegan,
fruitarian or pescatarian. Sign me up!
Broth-based soup with only green vegetables
as passengers on that train. I’ll cook
Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Med Spa packaged foods. Sure.
Quick weight loss centers advising grocery food,
but pushing their signature bars, shakes, supplements. Yep.
Health spas always catch my eye, from the posh to the rustic.
I go there and never fail to do well,
exercising like a maniac. Losing weight,
feel euphorically content with the meager fare they serve. . .
swearing up and down the lamp posts
that I will continue the regimen at home
until my last excess pound is shed.
and when I swear the above,
I truly believe that I can and that I will.
Blissfully ignoring my history—
the long, caravan of unhappy endings.
~ ~ ~
I got initiated as a preteen, when, at 15 pounds overweight,
I was threatened by my mother
that if I didn’t lose weight
I would never get married. I believed her,
but not enough to mend my ways,
just enough to feel shamed by my body.
~ ~ ~
As a young adult, a mature adult, and an older adult,
I consistently viewed the newest diet, plan, pill, book, program, or fat farm
as a panacea, the messiah, my prince charming,
the one for whom I had been waiting all my life,
the genie that would be the genuine and permanent game-changer.
It never was.
~ ~ ~
I am still hooked,
not thin yet,
not yet saying “screw you” to the fat.
Still a diet junkie,