By Madison Banfield
I’m hell-bent on transformation.
I’ll become the Thanksgiving
Turkey if it kills me. I’ll gorge
On everything I see until they
Have to get a dolly to roll me
To class. Bring out the miniscule
Platefuls, bring out those tiny
Portions. Dish me dishes one
After another and I’ll eat until
Two hours past stuffed. Then
I’ll moan on the floor, still
Wanting more but unable to
Rise and get it myself. Rise
And shine, I’m well on my
Way to seizing the day—with
Whip cream on top? Yes please
—don’t mind me. I’m stuffed
With stuffing and caked with
Cake and filled pie-high with
Sunny-warm French toast
Lathered in maple butter and
Swimming in cinnamon syrup.
