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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact


"New Year Unresolution" by Joe DiMino

Butter! Butter! Butter!
Gold of the Culinary
Industry!-Mounds of
mashed potatoes, dripping,
oozing, seeping, permeated
with butter.
When I get to heaven (If?)
I pray no fear of artery fats;
no prohibitions on
whether poly or mono sat's-
for what heaven would heaven be
deep-fried, charcoal toasted
chip taunt
don't forget the "Salt!"
animal delicious
mouth watery
gum basting
jaw salivating
(my heart is palpitating)
need I say more…
(the ambulance at the door).
So, before I leave you,
to my brother, Sal,
who never gains an ounce
(God I hate his type!)
and to poor souls like I
who, for one small slice of pizza
the pounds seem to pounce
(I admit, extra pepperoni, bacon, and cheese)
(Please! Don't judge me!)
And most of all
to you small minded critics,
who well know
Cameras add 10 to the view-
I'll sue!
Not my fault, I protest!
Though they don't make
elephants out of mice I know
referring now to the second
slice to go (I guess…who's counting?)
The fans will reject me…
My children hide in shame…
My wife to take another lover
and all on fats to blame-
Egads! No sympathy
if not for Mother,
who cherishes me
all the same:
No matter the shape
nor size
(our little fat lies),
I, a perfect specimen
to her
baking, spicing
always dicing, melting
malts that hypnotize
(Joey, you're too thin!)
according to
ever cooking
loving, not overly looking
Italian' eyes.

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