My Fat Duchess
(Zurich)
So you're just hinting to the count's man that
you did me in and you never mention “fat?”
That portrait rendered by Fra Pandolph's hands
is all they know. I end with "There she stands."
Good show! Keep at it. I've lost some forty pounds
on kale and yak milk. Not as bad as it sounds.
A shame the surgeon couldn't restore
that faint half flush. If it's money, there's plenty more.
Sweet, some things even a Swiss spa can't do.
I weighed four hundred pounds. I was two of you.
I say you scorned my nine hundred years old name.
You should see their look of shock. The crime! The shame!
Don't gush it up too much. And must you imply
I was sweet up front and naughty on the sly?
I tell them you rode a mule about the place!
You? Tub of guts? On a mule? Can't keep a straight face.
So let's keep up the front until I lose
the weight. And you're still shucking off the booze?
Of course, my pasta-plated chicadee--
although the count's munificence towards me
is tempting. The dear man is made of gold!
See you in June. Think slim. You are getting old.
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