Antisocial Sonnet #4
The lady lingers long before the mirror
Distressed by what she sees below her belt:
An image so distorted by her fear
It wrings from her an outcry most heartfelt.
“My butt’s too big!” she cries. “I cannot fight
The fact that everything I eat is thus
Metabolized to dreaded cellulite;
I’ll soon be bigger than a city bus!”
Then bitterly she turns her gaze away
From stark betrayal by her looking glass
That holds no hope or comfort to allay
The terror of an ever-growing ass.
For with all women she is certain that
Her butt is but a magnet for all fat.