Food Job: Diet Doctor

I dare not taste one drop of oil

For if I do, my health I’ll spoil

I’d spread my bread with lots of butter

But that would set my doc aflutter.

Don’t serve me poultry, pork or beef

Or I will surely come to grief,

And that fine fish just from the sea

Would, fried, become the death of me.

At breakfast I must never poke

My fork at any golden yolk,

And salt, to which I was a slave

Now lures me to an early grave.

Sugar, friend of childhood, sweet,

Is now a rare, forbidden treat.

A shot of gin, a glass of wine,

Add up to sins times nine,

For Julia is no more my guide

‘Tis to pyramid rules I must abide

Farewell to all the eats I love

Farewell, so long, to all the above.

But as I chomp through fields of green

And shrink each day to sinewy lean,

Teach me, dear Lord,

Not to wish each course

Was rare roast beef

With béarnaise sauce…