saturday's bulemic cat

it is not easy to 'rise above' the tyranny of svelte-ness

saturday's bulemic cat

"around here'" looking side ways, she said, "it's all
smoke and mirrors (musn't forget the mirrors!)," and the cat,
performing sleek, black yoga in the sun, stretching
(her patience) and clawing, puts a frantic edge on the background music
          "they all want to be skinny
          as an empty page,
          well fine with me! they
          can starve themselves
          till even what little
          was there is gone!"

and yet, that saturday night, beneath the wheel,
when push came to shove,
she tore open her drunken blouse
and sang, "whaddya think of these babies?!"

and not being catholic,
she could not confess herself
clean that next morning, so
by sunday night
the weight of monday morning was on her
and she could, not, eat
a thing.