There is a pelican sat, eating
on my Chesterfield, a plump bird
with food in her mouth/beak
eek – it’s me, stuffed like the sofa.
If I sat on my exercise bike, my view
would be of bold, confident women
soft and rounded but not, bearing
great bellies and bums.
They would walk with long strides
and get where they’re going in a flash
like I used to when I were a lass
a woman, a young mother.
My destination would be a future
that was wrapped around my past
the figure I was then would sail this ship
in style, with panache …
float a fabulous wardrobe of smart
sharp trousers, and suits and dresses
outlining a sharper chin and legs riding
up and up . How late am I?