"The swell of a fat back, Over one's trousers, Is one of life's great, Female arousers." So read the tale in Cosmo, A cruel, acerbic jest, Believed by wanton fools, Seeking to impress. I ate stewed cheese, Far beyond the point of repletion, I now have a back, Like a hugely obese Frisian. An alabaster bulge, Over one's swimming trunks, A disgusting welt of lipid, Two preposterous chunks. If my back had nipples, It could be milked for a dozen years, Supplying the world's children: My wobbly bandoliers. I was hoping that this poem, Might prove in some way cathartic, But by the poems end, My back's no smaller than the artic.