Fat Boy

That fat kid is following me again,
Looking at me with famished eyes,
Waiting for me like an orphan
Waits for adoption papers.
In my mind's eye I can picture him,
Lying on the sidewalk,
The bully sitting on his chest,
His pitcher of lemonade overturned.
In science class, his nose pushed
Into a pile of black powder.
Pelted with snowballs
In the gray morning,
Waiting for the school bus.
A look of dismay on his face,
Like when I was twelve,
And went to Weight Watchers meetings
Where a tall blond woman,
Thin as dental floss,
Talked about how she
Had once lain awake at night,
Hating herself for being fat,
And I glanced furtively
At firmly delineated
Adolescent pectoral muscles
In the Junior High swimming pool,
And shamefully hid my own
Flabby, breast-like chest
Under my t-shirt,
And my diet changed overnight
From slurpees and bologna sandwiches
To wheatena and lettuce,
And I lost twenty-five pounds
Along with a good deal of spontaneity and joy,
My fat soul now trapped in a thin body,
And I walked around like Narcissus,
Holding a mirror to my face.

Lately, it seems as if I see that fat kid
Everywhere I go. The more I avoid him,
The more he pops up, dragging his body
Behind him like ballast.

What does he want from me?

David Aronson