Eye Feast

Those people who say,

‘I only have to look at a cream bun

and I put on weight,’

really need to stop looking at cream buns.

What unusual lives these special individuals,

whose waist lines are predicated on

what food they look at,

must lead.

‘I only have to look at

the shelf of spirits in a pub

and I find myself in intensive care

with acute alcohol poisoning,’ they might say.

Trips to the chemist

must be similarly perilous.

‘I only have to look at the painkillers

and I’m sectioned on to some psychiatric ward

for being a danger to myself.’

There must be some advantages, though.

Only having to look at food

means they never have to buy any

and the savings to their weekly budget

must be at least as significant

as the give in their elasticated trousers.

Never having to cook

will liberate them from the tyranny of the stove

allowing them to spend more time

going for walks on the hills,

as they burn off all the calories acquired

from looking at cream buns.

Start looking at salads.

The greens, reds and yellows

make for a more aesthetically pleasing eye-feast

than the mottled splodginess of cream buns.

Avoid pubs.

Steer clear of chemists.

When it comes to poetry books, though,

I’m afraid I can’t give any constructive advice.

I only have to look at a poem

and I become all metaphorical.