Stella won't ya take me home

 (I have no title for this)

When I am old, I will eat

whatever I want. Cake, french fries,

cookie dough, three french hens, two turtle

doves and a

partridge in a pear tree

they will not buy me a

wheelchair

(unless I request one doused in syrup

for a light

brunch)

heavens no!, I intend to roll, like a

bowling ball with a face

down the hallways

to wherever my next meal is

I shall pass serenely

well fed and satisfied

to rest, not in a grave befitting the

plebeians

but a crater
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I've been thinking about the whole "Fat American" stereotype.  and poverty.  Also the elderly, because of course that is my job.