Published on 05 June 2012
Untitled May 28th
In 2012
My father put on weight.
“I’m 210!” He said,
sniffing like a seal,
mouth set in a clam outline.
He was always skinny,
A crazed, starved prophet.
(Arent’t all prophets false?)
But now, an incipient week away,
He ate and swallowed and grew,
Until even his pants drew tight.
An old tree,
Growing through a white fence.
Eating and growing
“Yes. I’m 210 now. Yep.”
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