The Goddess

She sits enthroned in glory on her couch,
Spreading beneath the silk-effect nylon.
Waves of burnished black hair caress her shoulders
In voluptuous flow. Hips wide as a
Festive basket; panniers on a Spanish
Donkey – filled with promise. She is fulfilled.
The Internet watchers anticipate
Their own glorious moment of maximum
Release. She is their lady divine.

Morning: she awakes to move from sleep to
Sleep. The Low Spirit hovers around her
Heavy as cheap imitation fragrance.
Her head is opiumed with depression.
She cannot move because she feels oppressed;
She cannot move because she is obese.
Now the Feeder has trouble moving her
In any way. He worries about her
Health, mind, life. She bore him and he feeds her.

And you sit, and you watch the TV screen,
And you laugh, and can’t believe what you see.

Sad, but true.