It is understood, with the clarity possible only
in heaven, that none have loved food
better than these. Angels gather to admire
their small mouths and their arms, round
as the fenders of Hudson Hornets. In their past
they have been among the world’s most meek,
the farm boy who lived with his mother,
the grade-school teacher who led the flag salute
with expression, day after day. Now
their commonplace lives, the guilt
about weight, the ridicule fade and disappear.
They come to the table arrayed with perfect food
shedding their belts and girdles for the last time.
Here, where fat itself is heavenly,
they fill their plates and float upon the sky.