A not-very-poetic poem. Prose in short lines, some might say. But I thought some of you must be like me, struggling to stay healthy. Incidentally, I wrote this last year and consistent exercise is still just a dream......

Metabolic Metaphysics

Wolfy in an easy trot at heel,

I maintained my pace up the hill

and realized how often IÂd been slowing

to a stroll recently. Our turning point,

the big, low rock embedded

in the dirt road, felt reassuringly firm

and smooth under my foot, but

at that moment a vascular twinge

under my left upper arm unsettled me.

"Okay," I said aloud to Wolfy and the weeds

lining the road, "I have to get serious now.

More exercise, more consistent exercise,

and I need to lower my triglycerides again,

so that means a crackdown on the carbs."

I thought about the implications of that,

and my step slowed, weighed down

with diet dread. Wolfy squatted, and I stopped,

assessing the massive tree in front of me.

The trunk didnÂt have an ounce of fat on it.

A good, responsible tree isnÂt burdened by gluttony

or guilt. Its leaves make sufficient foodÂno more,

no less. It takes what it needsÂnot what it cravesÂ

from the soil. Sap flows at the appointed time,

unimpeded by lipids, plaque, or clots. A maple will

never need a sapwood bypass operation.

"So no more dipping into the cherries for me,"

I said to the tree, sighing. "And I suppose

IÂll have to eliminate apricots. Or maybe I should

give up dried fruit entirely, what do you think?"

I waited for some sort of responseÂa shadow

passing across the bark, perhaps, or a leaf

drifting slowly to the groundÂbut it was clear

the tree came from a different place.