By Kay Newton –

Here lately I’ve been having far too many
hot fudge sundaes—I stop by Sonic’s drive-through
every time I’m out that way, just in case
the covid catches me. No one knows better than I do

how fast this fat will fall away when stricken
by pneumonia; I learned the hard way: everybody–
old folks, anyway–should have a cushion,
just in case corona comes a-calling.

It may not work, but if not, so what?
See, I’m not so sure
I’ll get to heaven. Even if I do,
will they be serving hot fudge sundaes there?
If I’m too fat, will they turn me away?

So call me fatter than a hen and madder
than a hatter. The silver lining is, it doesn’t matter,
since if I’m spared I know Weight-Watchers waits
for someday when we all can get together.