Heavy
By Gene Aronowitz
She bites
a piece of pie, flies
into a subway car in search of
two spaces.
Seated, she bites again
and again and again,
like the fittest
of a ravenous litter. Cheeks swell.
Head tilted slightly, she examines
her hand, empty now
except for a bit of sticky
filling, which she rubs
on the pant leg
that snugly covers
her enormous thigh. Done,
she shuts down:
draws her legs up, leans
her head on the window. Her face
glistens. She crosses
her arms, a loose embrace, closes her eyes.
I remember
enormous meals, fries, two
double burgers with cheese,
perhaps a third to fend off
pending need
unless with friends,
terrified of what they
might think.
