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Poem by Robert William Service


The Battle of the Bulge


This year an ocean trip I took, and as I am a Scot
And like to get my moneys worth I never missed a meal.
In spite of Neptunes nastiness I ate an awful lot,
Yet felt as fit as if we sailed upon an even keel.
But now that I am home again Im stricken with disgust;
How many pounds of fat Ive gained Id rather not divulge:
Well, anyway, I mean to take this tummy down or bust,
So here Im suet-strafing in the
                                                    Battle of the Bulge.
No more will sausage, bacon, eggs provide my breakfast fare;
On lobster I will never lunch, with mounds of mayonnaise.
At tea Ill Spartanly eschew the chocolate éclair;
Roast duckling and pêche melba shall not consummate my days.
No more nocturnal ice-box raids, midnight spaghetti feeds;
On slabs of pâté de foie gras I vow I wont indulge:
Let bran and cottage cheese suffice my gastronomic needs,
And lettuce be my ally in the
                                                    Battle of the Bulge.
To hell with you, ignoble paunch, abhorrent in my sight!
I gaze at your rotundity, and savage is my frown.
Ill rub you and Ill scrub you and Ill drub you day and night,
But by the gods of symmetry I swear Ill get you down.
Your smooth and smug convexity, by heck! I will subdue,
And when you tucker in again with joy will I refulge;
No longer of my toes will you obstruct my downward view...
With might and main Ill fight to gain the
                                                    Battle of the Bulge.



Robert William Service


Robert William Service's other poems:
  1. Pullman Porter
  2. The Missal Makers
  3. Trees against the Sky
  4. The Three Voices
  5. Mammy


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