The Diet Club Once a Week

The Diet Club Once a Week

Once a week we roll in bold,

half ashamed and half cold.

Tina swears she’s lost an inch,

but still can’t button up her shirt.

Jean brings bars that taste like paste,

Chocolate chip, she says with grace.

We nod, we chew, we lie, we choke,

then go outside for a sneaky smoke.

Once a week we do the weigh,

remove our socks, our sins, our spray.

Bev holds her breath and grips the chair,

and still shouts out, That scale’s unfair.

Maureen logs her carrot sticks,

but we all saw her in Greggs at six.

Carol swears by lemon shots,

then downs a bag of crisps and vodka shots.

We chant, we clap, we praise the fight,

and dream of toast at dead of night.

Our WhatsApp’s full of cauliflower,

but pizza wins by half past hour.

Once a week we pledge anew,

to count our bites and chew and chew.

But Monday hits, the fridge door sings,

and soon we’re back on sweeter things.

Still we meet and still we try,

with chicken breasts and dreams that die.

Laughing loud, not thin, not meek,

and doing it all again next week.