Ballad of a Fat Woman
Let me tell you the story of Sue.
Its matter is striking, but true.
She gained weight too fast but couldn’t be arsed
To diet – so what could we do?
We consulted the gurus and geeks
On their best recommended techniques.
These were met with a frown and she turned them all down.
They were fit, she asserted, for freaks.
Did she think, by ignoring the sight
Of her body, her mind could take flight –
That the huge bloated weight of all that she ate
Would help her to sleep well at night?
Did she feel that the mass of her fat
Was like the soft fur on a cat –
A thick secure wadding, a comforting padding
That warmed her wherever she sat?
She fried all her meals in thick batter
And couldn’t have been any fatter.
Hard not to conclude (I don’t mean to be rude)
She had very little grey matter.
Her blubber was thick as two whales.
She broke all our measures and scales.
‘I’m a soul’, she averred, ‘and free as a bird –
Your material take on this fails.’
‘Oh what is the matter’ we said
As she heaved herself up out of bed.
‘You eat the wrong things -- and whales cannot grow wings.
Continue like this, you’ll be dead.’
The shrinks scratched their heads in despair,
Diagnosing she ‘wasn’t all there’.
Our Sue wasn’t flattered, but that hardly mattered.
They were pros. Their assessment was fair.
The end of this story is sad.
Sue’s developed a strange thinking fad.
She claims that in water* she’s spirit, not matter.
Our Sue hasn’t died, she’s gone mad…
And yet if you watch her at night
Swimming naked by silver moonlight
You might well believe that this quaint taking leave
Of her senses is healthful, and bright.
*In Cumbria, the word ‘water’ is pronounced ‘watter’.