Sonnet: On Atkins

Shapely we stand in second skins and lie
About, inside, around ourselves and say
“The inner She is thin and stylish, why,
She waits only to be chiseled away
With meat and cheese and treadmill agony;
No carbohydrate ever will daunt her,
No Wonder shall inspire larceny;
Finally exposed, I shall ever flaunt her.”
Yet resolution, determination
At best are products of her darker will,
And when spuds are mashed, they cause elation
To sprout within my soul, my need fulfilled.

But which of us shall claim this mortal coil?
My inner first skin: Laura Flynn Boyle