Ode to Carbohydrates, on this, the last day of our aquaintance

Oh, carbohydrates, how I love thee.
Your versatility,
baked, toasted, smothered in cheese
You, oh carb, bring me to my knees.

I am of Irish decent, as you can plainly tell from my
freckled skin and absolute refusal
to tan.
Carbs,
you and I share a deep-rooted bond, a chemistry
created in history
handed down
through the ages
from man
to man.

You and I, we go
together
like Mr. Prosser and Genghis Khan,
a bond genetic and subtle.
Undeniable.
Michael to the Don.

If there has ever been found a better vessel

for transporting butter to
my waiting mouth,
I have not met it.

My motivation to see this through is quickly heading south.

The way you caress every condiment and topping
thrown your way
ketchup
butter
cheese
olive oil
Is a mystery
a riddle
whose answer I cannot say.

Alas, dearest carbs, there is a problem deep at the heart of us
Against the laws of nature
fighting everything good and true
Something in me doesn't
like
you.

The word allergic
too severe
but something is amiss;
I cannot deny
that my tuna sandwich is a TKO but my
tuna salad, delish.

I believe the word is sensitive
to carbs
battling nature and heredity
head-on
throwing caution to the wind
a love/hate affair:

my tongue loves
the rest of me hates.
Explain it? Accept it? I almost
don't dare.

My morning oats, sweet, creamy, good
Knock me out flat,
My energy straight down the drain
much like a tranquilizer
shot
from the lips of an aborigine
straight into my neck, dead into a
vein.

How will I survive
the coming fall
my favorite season; the changing leaves
crisp, cool air
children in overpriced
costumes
begging for candies
without my annual pumpkin
cheesecake
cookies
soup
bread
all full of sugary goodness...
please, tell me the reason!

Some would say, "Use Splenda!"
That I cannot do.
Splenda tastes like old rich
New York women with big
noses
at the mall shopping
for a cat named Mr. Pookie-Doo.

Dear Dr. Atkins, who told us it was
safe
to live la vida low carb
would like me to abandon you
fast
bacon
cheese
eggs
steak
Straight protein? Too hard.

I can only imagine the smell
under my arms, in the pit of my knees,
that would come
with that
And the challenge pooing would bring.
Jeez.

Dearest carbs, I do not
abandon you with the intent of
weight loss
as it is so trendy to do.
There is nothing about my
cottage cheese
butt
or my thighs that caution me against
corduroy
that cannot be fixed in a
week
walking my kid through the zoo.

I take my leave of you with a heart
heavy
wondering how many
bowls
of whipped cream I can knock back
before I realize that
bowls of whipped cream do not
will never
constitute a sweet, tasty snack.