My meals are now fueling an engine that can’t.
My body has slowed and I want to rant.
Food congeals on my waist. My figure’s now flawed.
Impulses move fast, from my paws to my jaw.
Food slithers down and then wants to rest.
I want a nap. I’m losing my zest.
My intestines sluggish, yet wanting treats,
And bear-like hibernation after a feast.
I could live for a year with the weight that I’m carrying.
It’s not easy to escape from tummy full ferrying.
It’s hard to accept that I’m growing so fast.
I’m feeling blimpy. I have a heavy task.
Sure, my body image is distorted.
I look in the mirror and know I’m contorted.
It’s probably not as bad as it seems.
So please pass the butter, the cake and the cream.