ok, so i found this poem, from today's writers almanac to be quite telling, especially in these days of working on weight....Upon My Offering Her an Easter Chocolate, My Wife Screams that She Won't Let Me Make Her Fat by Gaylord Brewer, from Exit Pursued by a Bear. © Cherry Grove Collections

Later, it may occur to me
that inside a door frame is, they say, safest
place structurally during a tornado,
other than any available underground.

And later, after the night perhaps,
when earth's sun shines on a cold spring morning
and the house is quiet,
I will reflect inconclusively on what I've done
and what I may deserve, and whether I am a villain.

But for now, a punishing moment
when a woman turns in a chair
to a man extending a candy egg held on the axis
of thumb and forefinger and subtext

explodes, for that moment I weave
a bit foolishly on the threshold of an open passage,
blinking carefully, drunk,
absolutely and silently indefensible
as the existing universe that I can perceive

narrows to a radiating point,
then, widening, takes the shape of a glove
crafted for life's work, one that may slap, caress,
or close quickly to a fist, as the hand desires.