Fed
‘How does he do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Stay so god damn thin’
‘Maybe he works out’
‘No way. He’s scrawny
I don’t know where he puts it’
The thin man paid in cash
The thin man
His green car
Reggae on the radio
Is this love
Is this love
Is this love
Is this love
That I’m feeling?
He returns from the shop
The thin man
Carrying a bag
Full of food
The thin plastic handle of the bag
Cuts his fingers
Leaving red marks
That fade with time
His wife sits
In the bed she has spent most of her life in
Bloated
Obscene
Happy to serve
She spills out of her purposely undersized clothes
Covered in sores and weeping flesh
Weeping eyes
He passes her a carton of cream
‘Drink this’
And she does
‘You are beautiful’
And she is
The thin man enters the bathroom
He removes his pants
And pisses a thin stream of blood
He is dying
Dying for her
For his love
The thin man eats one stick of celery
And swallows multivitamins
His stomach burns
It is all he has eaten for days
The fat woman and the thin man
Lie in bed together
He can smell her weight
He can taste her flesh
He closes his eyes
Why is he like this?
He thinks
Why does he do this?
He knows
Love.
The light dims from the day
As fire flows through the blind
He sleeps at last
Atop his mountain of sin.
