Too much was made of her
tent size 3x dresses,
drumstick arms stretching seams,
quadruple chins in perfect folds,
rhino breasts so swollen
her triple ply extra strength bra
would peek through her taffeta
like cathedral spires.
And too much was made of her weekly
double cart grocery trips to Johnny's IGA,
or her afternoon dashes
to Manny's Pastry Emporium
to satisfy a sudden craving
for a dozen little chocolate donuts.
We laughed when her purse straps
snagged the door over at Carol's 7-11,
causing her to spill one of the BIG GULPS
she held high on her hips.
Only I knew she would circle Shirley's A&W
in her Escort right before bedtime
so she could sniff the favorable scent of a
SUPERSHIRLEYCONEYDOG
simmering in the summer air.
"It brings on the sweetest dreams,"
she once told me.
When she died, they made fun of her
right inside the funeral home.
Manny mentioned that if they couldn't find
a grave site large enough,
perhaps a minor league baseball stadium would do.
One of her students cracked that the parlor
curtains would serve nicely as her burial cloth.
They were rolling in the aisles.
Yet when I whispered to Carol
that business would never be the same
her face abruptly turned grim.
Oh ravenous fat woman!
Carnival queen of my dreams.
I did not mind serving S'mores
to you on the weekends,
or prying Rice Krispie treats
from your molars with a fudgesicle stick,
so you could keep reading
the poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Your voice was so eloquent.
Your resonance as delicate
as my mother's kiss.
Sleep peacefully now
my plump little darling
and know I shall never forsake you.
For I have learned well
in the sanctity of your classroom.
It is true that I do know -
Your flesh is but a cloak for your soul.
~Garasamo Maccagnone
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