ode to bukowski

walking through the discount store. im taking quick glances at the dirty glass to catch a glimpse of my once toned and chiseled ass. i take each step and add my own sound effects. squish squish squish; the sound of my buttocks rubbing against my cheap denim jeans. i'm wondering how much worse i'd feel in a normal environment. one full of other women to be envious of. the ones that have it easy. that look good in anything and get whistled at walking down the street, hit on at the bar, at the mall, the market, the hospital. i'm pathetic. green with envy, flabby with cellulite thighs.

i'm sitting at my desk. in my cubicle. surrounded by paperweights, file cabinets and candy jars. i unwrap a piece of mini sized milk chocolate & suddenly remember that chocolate goes straight to my love handles. i wrap it back up, throw it in the trash and lay out a sigh of triumph and relief. i wonder if the quotes of wisdom etched into the foil are supposed to distract me from ravaging that silky smooth tablespoon of refined sugar that i usually enjoy. getting it stuck on my top and bottom molars as it stains my two front teeth.

before bed i'm staring at the medicine cabinet mirror again. does my face look fatter? is that crease in my neck a double chin? back on the scale and i've apparently lost 5 pounds in a week. i move the scale around the room, let it rest. nope. fooled. i'm sure those things expire after so many uses and after much time in the bathroom i'm on amazon.com looking for an extra high-waisted pair of spanx.

to hell with aging, to hell with gravity. you've taken my once oogled derrière.