Ode on a Belly Roll

Ode on a Belly Roll

An adaption of Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats

THOU still unceasing orb of fleshiness,
Thou foster-child of excess and slow Time,
Mirror: historian, who canst thus express
A more accurate tale of my robust line:
What love-handled paunch drapes above my belt
Of propagation or tasty morsels, or of both,
In posture or my state of mind?

Savored confections are sweet, but those declined
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft yearning, play on;
Not to the practical ear, but, more entwin’d,
Pipe to my spirit ditties of chocolate oblivion.
Vast roll, beneath my shirt, thou canst not leave
My mid, not ever can that button be bare;
Bold sphere, never, canst thou fit size small,
Ne’r slimming near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
For ever wilt thou ice cream eat, and never share!

Ah, happy, happy pounds! thou cannot shed
Babe’s cocoon, even after she hast bid the womb adieu;
And, happy mother, wearièd,
For ever piping lullabies for infant new;
Flames of love dancing in eternal pregnant splendor! Never wilt thou be rid of!
For ever dancing and stretching across this great void;
A crease forever painted from whence issue sprung;
Oh dear baby! All completed with love,
Thou leaves a heart overflowing, each moment enjoy’d,
A flaccid core, and an eager tongue.

What are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what tabled altar, O glorious feast!
Lead thou that heifer suspiring the fries,
And all her elephantine flanks with triple x dress!
What kind of cookie whilt thou ignore?
Or doughnut box with peaceful smell,
emptied of its burden. You long for more!
Ah, little pound, thy place for evermore
An annex to my abdomen; exercise cannot quell!
If thou art deserted, ye can e'er return.

O curved shape! fair attitude! I concede
With solider stance and positive thought,
An evolving form I can see indeed;
Thou, inhaling form! Please tease us naught
As doth spandex suction: Cold Disguise!

When old age shall this body waste,
Thou shalt remain, my great belly roll.