Poetry Morgue

The Diet Coach

So, you’re a taste tester and escort?

Hmm, if you mean that as a euphemism
then that costs extra because in shame
I must be frank, Frank Bond, son of James
and I must aim to motivate, say that
you’re unattractive and fat

So, paid date and taste tester?
(what do you mean that I’m fat?)

Well, unless you expect rogues to poison your food
I must be Frank: I’m a glutton, and moody
gourmet usurper for hire, specialist
wistful in dates and figs. Diet Coach.

Um, an efficacious Diet Coach then,
if you say so yourself, but fend well
for, you’re making me anxious

I’m super anxious for dinner.
It’s my calling. So, first
order us a tall order versed
in cuisine to crave

And what, pray tell,
will a coach have here?

Nothing for now. My
associates will fly
braking into your house
raiding your refrigerator, and
looking for toxins


Toxins are things they don’t like.
They’ll incite a party wild, and
the toxins they will give to your “tired
your poor, your bundled masses…”
Yes, let us give you your
thin Emma rising from fat Lazarus

OK, coach, I’ll order now… um…
Waiter? Ah yes, nice to see you again
Monsieur Auguste Esprit d’Coiffeur —
oh sorry, Auguste Escoffier, yes well
I’ll have:
caviar d’aubergines
aspics de foies de volaille
citrons farcis au thon
hors d’oeuvre d’hiver aux pois chiches
pommes fourrées au jambon
bananes au bacon
escargots de Bourgogne

Um what? chicken livers and caviar
with tuna, mussels, ham, bananas and bacon
and snails and something-something…
That’s dinner?

That’s just an appetizer.

tickory, dickory dock
the mouse got eaten.
Children’s rhyme
about the French Revolution

It’s coming.

Tick tock. Remember to
observe the presentation
smell the aromas
see the colors,
breathe in the vapors,
fill yourself with satisfaction
like the smell of Spring
of renewal and growth
satiated by the breeze of love
and sigh, pause, sing

It’s here. Sigh, smell, pause, sing…

I’ll have a taste of this
of that
of mussel
of tuna
of snail.
Another in my big spoon
in the shovel I’ve brought.
Yes more and good, fine..

You’ve eaten it all!
And your teeth are huge

Order the main course.

I can’t believe
you’ve eaten it all.

Smell, color, presentation.
Order the main course.
Breathe in the fragrance
breathe out the anxiety.

Um, the top of your head is swelling
like a bowl.

Of course. When I eat
they call me Mr. Mushroom head.
More, more, more. Order more.

But Grandfather, the bottom
of your face and jaw is
shrinking into cylinder form
and joining your long neck

Yes the better to pleasure you with
my precious Little Red Riding Hood,
many meals to go

But Grandfather
cream sauce is coming out of your head
a deluge spilling on the floor
like an ocean filling a cave –why

The better to drown you with

can’t swim here no, I’m
drowning down; Help me
Auguste help, Aidez moi
Auguste, Je me meurs;
he tears me so much…
Auguste… Frank?

You won’t drown
so long y’ don’t
tattle down

Don’t drown me,
be good, um but oui
sorry, excusez-Moi oh
je suis désolé
I’ll lay and
won’t tell

Be a good girl, and
I’ll give you candy

Yes, Daddy.
Can I wake up now?

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