Youth gave her twenty-two
inches – an even, hourglass figure.
Two hands could encircle it,
as could belts sized extra-small.

She's wasting away
posthaste posthaste
Waste not want not
Girl, clean up your plate!
You’ve got  nothing to lose
it's not too late
Eat drink and be merry
bulk up that waist.

Midlife brought midriff crises.
Her hourglass became a jar,
She’s at odds with elastic,
and her belts sized extra-large.

Her waist runneth over
posthaste posthaste
Drive-thrus and fast food
haste does make waist!
Low and behold
I guess it's too late
Packed to the gunwale
she is what she ate!

This poem first appeared in Festival of Language's Festival Writer. Jeannie E. Roberts lives in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Her fifth book, The Wingspan of Things, a poetry chapbook, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. View more of Jeannie Roberts's work. Learn more about her at www.jrcreative.biz.