Random Impulse: Final Draft of "Hips"

My pants are too tight
and my ass creaks in them,
like geriatric door hinges.
Muffin top turns to mushroom cloud
and folds over and swallows the belt,
like a glutton gulps spaghetti.

My cellulite is dynamite
and it blows up and over,
like deep fried atom bombs.
My sides are cracked like summer sidewalks

by the purple fingers
of stretch marks.

Huff up stairs, into cars

make dressing rooms crammed.
Pools overflow
Benches break
I am fat, cracked; a road under a bus.
But I can cook.