You Are What You Eat 

By Emma Moran

‘You are what you eat.’ The voice of his trainer, all Lycra and sinew and sports drink, echoes in his mind.  He grins and lifts his middle finger to the memory.

It’s like sinking his teeth into a cloud.  Gooey pink icing smothers his top lip, reaching towards his nostrils.  Yellow custard oozes left and right; one glistening globule falls onto his t-shirt.  Dark grease begins to bloom from all sides.  Powdered sugar coats his undulating neck; a sickly snow.

Twelve hours later, his trainer comes knocking.  ‘Morning run time!’  Only a plump, shiny doughnut remains to hear his call.

Lost Appetite

By Bean Sawyer

She watched as he tucked into the grub.

She’d spent hours preparing the meal

down to every meticulous detail:

the honey glaze on the carrots

the crisp of the roast potatoes

the soft rise of the Yorkshire pudding –

the tender cut of the beef.

Hours spent in the kitchen that she’ll never get back.

Seven wasted years.

And there he was, diving in like William the Conqueror – stuffing his face,

talking while chewing,

licking his knife,

slurping gravy from his plate.

‘You not eating, love?’

She poured herself a large glass of Bordeaux.

‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.

Porky 

By Robert Woods

His snout slobbers over pellets, frothy saliva creating a wet, sticky mass on the concrete to be gobbled down. His delighted squeal echoes around the warehouse as the herd watch enviously from their cages. His stomach aches, not used to this much food, but still he keeps gorging. He doesn’t know when he’ll be fed again.

Finally, the leash is tugged: his stomach’s so swollen he’s almost relieved. He heaves towards his cage, legs screaming under his bulk, lungs bursting, but the man with the leash keeps pulling, dragging him instead towards the dark, heavy curtain.

Where the guillotine awaits.

Some of us left the circus crying. 

By Cecilia O’Brian

There is a sad clown eating the moon 

He swallowed it whole 

And now it slides down his throat 

Shining through translucent skin 

And all is darkness 

Except for him 

There is a sad clown sitting in the sky 

And like a lantern he do shine 

So for him I climb the night 

But he 

He sucks the marrow of my spine 

He leaves toothmarks on my ribs  

And I should be thankful 

For my body is now his 

Or at least 

That is what says the priest.

Toppings

By Caroline Jenner

A riotous carnival of colour, the flamboyant display radiates sugary delight. Freckles of chocolate sprinkles sit alongside the razzle-dazzle showy hundreds and thousands.  Multi coloured smarties wink at each other whilst gooey marshmallows ooze together in bubblegum pink and frosted ivory. Peanut butter cups, their moulded chocolate hiding the richness of earthy salt, celestial sweetness, pile up in higgeldy piggeldy heaps. She watches the child in front, eyes like saucers, ladling, ladling, ladling. Envisions his stomach endlessly churning.  Eying the selection she feels her teeth cringe, imagines the bacteria eating away at enamel.

“One scoop of vanilla, no toppings thanks.”

A Glutton’s Refrain  

By Gabrielle Josephine Lewis

I eat when I feel hungry

I eat when I am scared

I eat when I feel angry

I eat when I am dared 

I eat when I feel happy

I eat to celebrate 

I eat when I feel sappy

I eat what’s on my plate

I eat to cover heartbreak

I eat to ease my soul 

I eat for only my sake

I eat to make me whole

I eat when I feel guilty

I eat when I don’t care

I eat and now feel filthy

I eat, full of despair