How's it Hanging

Damn you Isaac Newton
inventor of gravity
I've purchased a body toner
plugged it in
used Solar lamps
but I'm still over forty
in the mirror.

I was just beginning to enjoy
my zit-free life
when hugs
became an activity
where hands no longer meet
yours is the invention
that highlights
the 'rump' in my frump.

A pox upon your
invisible force
that leaves great globs
of overhang
my belt strains at the notch
as I drape myself
over the bonnet
trying to be trendy
with an iPod
hanging from my waist.

Maybe I could hire
a multi-gym
and join the
'Very fit when I die club'
heart attack and sweat
in a final duet
to place me
under a jade granite slab.

The vile stench
of healthy food
makes me feel queer
so I'll veto the fig
the wholemeal bread,
health evangelists
get on my wick
I know what I enjoy
being a Tyke,
my jaded enthusiasm
for eating properly
has had a chance
and failed.

I'll have to accept that
we can't undo
what Mr Newton has invented
so I'll stay safe
in my fort
built on the wair
of my heritage
I will not allow anyone
whether personal trainer
or house maid
to taint my life
this bull will not chase the red rag of conformity.