Lite
So those 15 darned pounds that I’ve fought with all year –
They’re still pretty visible when I look in the mirror.
“Dumb baby weight ,“ I mutter and steam
From my son -who recently turned 17.
So I’ve started again to count what I eat –
Cut down on desserts, my goodies and treats.
I’ve tried a few plans, bought books from the store
Scanned the internet and then read some more.
‘Quit this if you can' – 'Don’t ever eat that,’
They say.’ follow these rules and you’ll never be fat!’Jenny says one thing, Weight Watchers another
They all have advice – for ridding my blubber.
Going out is the thing that's a problem for me –
When I look at the menus – I want all I see.
A burger and fries … oh, no I couldn’t.
A small piece of pie? (I could – but I shouldn’t).Lasagna? Spaghetti? Ah, the book said no noodles –
But good sounding pasta … Oh my! Look! There’s oodles.
But then there’s the problem of whetting my lips.
With something that won’t end up right on my hips.I know what I want – (It’s what landed me here.)
An ice cold, frothy, big mug of beer.
A cold beer with olives… ooooh! That frosty mug, too!
What’s an ale lover like me s’pose to do?
I usually mull and debate for a bit –
Make a decision and then rethink it.
Soup and salad? Maybe some toast?
But it’s still not the thing I desire the most.
The waiter comes twice and I send him away
Silently adding my day’s thus far intake.
When he comes back again I'm ready this time.
"I guess," I tell him, "I've made up my mind."
"I'll take a cold beer. Perhaps olives on top...
In the coldest, tallest, mug that you've got."
I remember I'm here for a low-fat, healthy bite -
So I sigh and call after him, "Hey! Make it a lite."
