Tater Tot

how time does fly
post-haste to suicide
irregular sleepless dreams
drizzled lard on salad greens
fast expanse of widening pants
getting tighter and slowing our dance
but what doesn’t kill us will kill us
a big fat grave for the gluttonous
pestilence creeps the land o’ plenty
when it comes to pies, we’ll have four and twenty
menu boards display well-posed meats
reposed between high fructose treats
counting calories like numbered days
counting calories like I count the ways
civilizations have crumbled for want of bread
all that fat as third worlds remain under-fed
some day they may revolt for what we’ve got
but until that day comes… tater tot!

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