Tammy was no twiglet
And Patricia, pretty plump
Rotund, Rebecca’s nickname
Harsh, but true, she was a lump
Every Tuesday they would meet
At Debbie’s Donuts, for a chat
perhaps a Cappuccino
With a healthy little snack
One day ‘two ton’ Terry
Nearly true, but also cruel
Chomping Debbie’s bargain butty
Eyed this small but weighty crew
Announced himself, with a belch
His humour knew no bounds
handed each, a simple card
“Magic Diets” could be found
‘Reduction by Seduction”
Was the one that caught the eye
As Terry quickly pointed out
“’Twas one to one, that diet”
Patricia’s hand was first to raise
The teeny tiny flaw
Why, if magic diets worked so well,
did Terry’s weight not fall?
“The point you raise is true of course
None such has worked for me
These plans are just for ladies
Not a man, like I, you see?”
Tammy, brave, was first to try
And followed Terry back
A little gap between the terrace
Almost hid the simple shack
They squeezed in both, just through the door
And settled down to Tea
Then later on the bed they sat
His hand upon her knee,
His chant, eyes closed, “O God of Lard
I ask, look on my lover
And as we bounce upon this bed
Please remove her blubber “
Eight hours had passed, and all was quiet
Apart from Terry’s snores
When Tammy woke, a skinny lass
With sweat from every pore
From Terry’s doze, the question clear
My dear, how can this be?
“While you’re a little dove, my love
I’ve gained a stone or three
The fat you lose, it seems to go
on me, I know not why
A kind of magic spell I sell
That only femmes can buy”
Terry’s fame grew quickly
As did his mighty frame
His doctor said “you’ve got to stop”
But still he loved again
At fifty stone, was trapped “in house “
Our curvy Casanova,
Still the belles, would waddle in
And trade to trot out thinner
As all good things, it had to end
One day and sad to say
The biggest heart had too much fun
And gave out as he lay
Because deceased was twice most men
His corpse became a curse
No coffin fit, so custom built
A lowly truck the hearse
They tried to dig the grave with men
But as this grave got bigger
‘twas clear mere spades would take too long
So had to fetch the digger
His funeral was a sad affair
Though feast for flower sellers
The mourners, girls all very slim
beneath their black umbrellas
The weeping women watched and wailed
As lowered down his chest
No men could lift this mighty box
So’d hired a crane instead
Halfway through, the rope was frayed
Gave a sigh and snapped
The coffin wedged, his feet stuck out
The vicar screamed as trapped
The little digger saved the day
On caterpillar tracks
Put body back and chained the chest
With cables now attached
As people tried to say their piece,
Machines were much too loud
And all they got was bits and bobs
As winched him to the ground
The vicar said a few more words,
His arm all in a sling
And finally, a little late
They got poor Terry in
The moral of the story, Eat!
Drink lots and don’t be slimming,
Not the digest does the damage
Just don’t date with dieting women
If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!
Paul Horne 