Buried in a plate of lettuce, I look up.

Buried in a plate of lettuce, I see

Memories of chicken nuggets dipped in ranch

Memories of thick, greasy pizza

With scads of pepperonis and sausages

Breakfast with pancakes and bacon, lots of bacon

Both drowned in syrup.

 

Buried in a pile of lettuce, I gaze on

As hot chicken wings and Five Guy’s fries pass me by

As ice cream sundaes, fit with brownies,

Seduce from beds of cotton candy

As cheesy lasagna, and Mom’s fried chicken,

And fried oreos from school fairs dance like sugar plums.

 

Buried in a pile of lettuce, I look up

A cup of sweet fruit punch floats towards me

And within is a nostalgic vision.

A cake, moist and creamy, suffocated with cocoa

Slathered in chocolate buttercream icing

And surrounded by all my favorite candies.

 

Buried in a pile of lettuce, I look down.

I see my waist, now slimmer.

I see my calf muscle, more lean.

I see chopped cucumbers, diced tomatoes,

And fresh kale.

 

I see visions of attempts to jog,

Of dessert offers I turned away

Of parties spent far from the food

Of lonely days with no snacks.

 

Buried in a plate of lettuce,

I slit a vein and let it drip dressing on the leaves.

A low-calorie vinaigrette shines the lettuce.

20 pounds lighter, it seems to any onlooker

That I’ve let junk food go.

But starved on a plate of lettuce,

I want all of my burnt calories back.