The unbearable lightness of being fat

Heavy handed and heavy set,

With a lightness of touch, you've not seen yet,

Heavy set and Heavy handed,

If you're lying on the mattress, you'll know when I've landed.

Middle aged like middle earth,

Middle aged spread around my girth,

On the take and on the fiddle,

However you throw something in my direction,

Trust me, I'm so fat, you'll hit the middle,

But I walk with my chins held high,

And for some reason the girls just sigh.

It's a huge responsibility,

When you are so large that,

You generate your own gravity,

But I bear the weight of it well,

Not so anyone could tell,

I transcend all kinds of restraint,

You may be skinny and miserable,

But I sure as hell ain't,

It may give me a heart attack,

But at least while I am alive, I live,

and fats a fact,

It's a kind of a mystic Zen type thing,

The peace of mind,

That comes from having your own,

Rubber ring,

I call it a blubber ring,

If I'm dropped in the ocean,

I wont need to swim,

To stretch-mark the metaphor

I float above it all,

The wreck of Titanic,

The belles of the ball,

Their skinny bones lie on the sea bed,

So don't even think of asking me to shed,

A few pounds,

I've seen many lighter folk drown,

In a sea of misery,

Beneath the waters of drudgery,

No I'm far too spiritual for that,

I guess I'll just live,

With the unbearable lightness,

Of being fat.

The glove box.

So she is gone,
So the moment is over,
Our faces, sewn up,
As stitched as our words,
As tailored with patches,
That conceal rips,
Rips that will eventually,
Stretch the new borders of their searching extremities,
Hidden rips,
We stand about, heads low,
Hog-tied hands on our hips,
In forced conversation,
Which keeps struggling back to the surface,
For air.

This car, we surround, is the last nail in the coffin,
The final purge,
My father's finally cleansed his house,
All visual representations,
Of her,
Are gone,
Or at least they will be,
When my sister drives off in it.

It will no longer be,
The marble that tips,
the see-saw,
Grief sits alone,
Weighing twenty stone,
But will not pick its ass off the floor.
Not if he can help it.

And just when it seems you are gone,
When we are pretending,
That the reason we are there,
Is actually this car,
And not your death,
Not his unfaceable grief,

An afterthought,
A by the way,
He leans in,
And flips the catch,
On the glove box,

And out tumbles,
Comically spring loaded,
Your fur trimmed hat,
Your scarf,
Your gloves,

We gasp,

And though the emotion,
Is stamped on, reclaimed,
Stuffed back, hurriedly,
Like a child clamps its hand on its mouth,
After the forbidden words have escaped,
It can not be anything but acknowledged,

And though it is not referred to,
And it it's heartbreaking to see my fathers face so nearly crack,

Like a fart in a lift,
An elephant in a room,
We all know,
That you've been there,
And though my family are reined,
And though the tears were restrained,
The smallest trace
 Of a smile on my face,
 Is not.

I love this fragile painful truth.
Like a daisy breaking the pavement.
You wont be denied.