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.
The Fat Enter Heaven
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