My ham's mottled with marble; munch 'n' marvel I till plenty full:
Such plentitude! I'm plenty rude and plenty lewd yet plenty dull.
I'm finger-lickin' chicken pickin'--pull at pullet. . .plenty cull;
Table's bereft, naught left to heft, and where there was once plenty: null;

I'm such a glutton: chutney'd mutton, mutt 'n' hippopotamus
Are just hors d'oeuvre, when horse is served, I suss, my hips have gotta bust.
I'm keen on beans and green and spleens; ain't seen no treat I won't degust;
I'll swig a butt and split my gut; a dinner slut, I must disgust;
On blintzes I don't stint--this nixed thinness; stiff splints keep midriff trussed.

I groove on food; my attitude has moved to include "gluttonous,"
Frugivorous, carnivorous, herbivorous, omnivorous.
Oh, wheat is neat and rice is nice; I like the type that's glutinous.
As I alluded, gut's extruded, like butt--I fear glutes'll bust.

I'm daffy for soft taffy candy, happily I wrench and pull.
In holding matter animal (pre-mandible) and vegetable,
My hands are never hobbled and I gobble till I'm plenty full.

I'm itchin' for the kitchen. . .degut fish 'n' never wear a smock;
I slice and dice a swine so fine and find that I will bare a hock.
At Mickey D's you'll nix see me; such places prepare fare o' schlock.
I'm game for game or tame pets slain, then drained and dressed--like hare 'r cock.

When liquor's poured I am all for gorging on port, snorts plentiful,
I ravage pantries, brandy cabinets; pals must post a sentinel,
I dine like swine; friends mine opine, "Comportment ain't impeccable."

"The Frogs," a piquant, peepin' piece, penned by Greek Aristophanes--
I dig frogs' legs; a dig: "They're dregs, worthwhile for only hoppin', these."
I don't agree, and so serve me three dozen after loppin', please.
Taste buds aflutter; "Bud," I mutter, "tub-o'-butter-soppin', please!"

When leeks I seek, those Greek ain't weak: I can't be meek in choppin' these.
Dry Creek* I leak on seat; sweet's piqued; she shrieks: "Geek freak, seek moppin', please!!"
Once, near did time for "dine and dash"; not clink-cached, I was copping pleas.

I never pass on Paschal lamb, though the damn dam ewe bleat's forlorn.
I've passed on "passing" passages polite; instead: "Shoot me the corn!"
There's ham and Spam and lamb; the latter's grand and such good eatin' shorn.
If we're taping this table-raping, it would be food-eatin' porn.
Utopia's cornucopia; I'll empty, 'scuse me, the horn.

A carnivore, I'm armed with fork, gorging on pork that's rent and pulled,
An herbivore, I'm urgin' more gorging on scores of vegetables,
And furthermore, I slurp and gorge on forage porridge gently mulled.

I take a carrot and I pare it into a sharp javelin;
I spear the pasta, cheer, "Hasta le vino" and start ravelin'.
The vino makes a beeline to my mouth, then south starts travelin';
The taste ain't great. . .like 30 weight I pour in my car: Havoline.

Then some vermouth; I'm so uncouth--it ambles down my ample chin.
The moment that a donut rolls past. . .lost control. . .I'm samplin',
Then transfat transports down my gorge; I'm coronary gamblin'.
Lout, I strut; my buns jut out. . .flouncy butt-stout, got-gout gambolin'.

Ingest comestibles, commit more-full, veal-eat-still prandial sin,
I gourmandize; a gorgeous prize my gums'll pry; I'm mandiblin',
Engorged gut's girth's like gordo gourd-forged body of a mandolin.

I succumb to grub by the ton. I'll shun none of plump plums and peas.
A kosher nosh I will kibosh, by gosh: fried-hog dim sums and cheese.
After we've dined and wined and whined, I'll start to mine the rums and teas.
Not anorexic but dyspeptic, I request the Tums, man, please!

I used to play guitar, but my gut's far out; I can't strum with ease,
Unable to naysay the table. . .need a staple tummy squeeze,
I don't brush after every meal; I'll feel a brush with gum disease.

I've got stretchmarks, made this benchmark: I've clinched the mark of century:
That's stone; I moan, and groan, intone, and drone; they need feed-censure me.
I should hold off until I've doffed enough heft so my genitals
Don't tip the scales like those of whales; my doc's agog, reverential

Still, holding matter manually, animal and vegetable,
My hands are never hobbled and I gobble grub gobs plentiful.


*brand of wine