It Didn't Help if You were Fat

She was too heavy for the summer.

That’s all there was to that.

When it was ninety-three degrees,

it didn’t help if you were fat.

Therefore her air conditioning

became her close companion –

although she had a closer one –

a yellow spirit from the canyon

she flew into in a dream –

where, preternaturally light, she

was a wafting gleam. Truth to tell,

he sometimes was annoying. He

fretted over every little wisp

and tendril of her feelings.

She often found him cloying.

And yet he let the peelings

and the chips and flakes and shards

of her imploding psyche fall

as if they hadn’t spelled the end

of her, or anything at all.

.