CHEW NEED A PRAYER?

Now I lay me down with grief.

I pray The Lord, please let me sleep.

If I should shrink before I awake,

I pray The Lord my clothes to take.

It’s not so much that clothing clutters;

It’s just material, in bulk, that matters.

Such yardage, bondage of yon stark seat,

Designed to clad the cellulite.

The muted shades, the basic black,

My closet does a garden lack.

No flowery garb or bright hues sing

Of carefree days or careless fling.

Oh, Lord, return my sleek, svelte shell.

Oh, Lord, please keep me from the well.

Of pasta, bread, all goodies, more,

Oh, Lord, please slap me in the store.

Confuse me not, damn fashion trends.

My bulky waist just will not bend.

If famine comes, I will survive.

There’s much to burn.  I’ll stay alive.

But must it really come to that?

I’d rather dream-away the fat.

My prayer is, thus, laid at your feet.

Don’t force me to rely on sheets.

To swaddle is no longer chic.

Good God, I’ve finally reached my peak.

Inspire, now, some science mass.

And melt the flesh right off my ass.

Amen!