by Morgan Eklund
By 2050, plastic will outweigh
fish in the ocean and every Monday
until then I’ll walk to the bathroom
to weigh myself, calorie myself, sweat
myself, scale new skin, pound for pound,
pound myself. I might outweigh myself
next Monday. I’ll be heavier
to this single-use world on Monday,
and I still won’t love myself next Monday.
My thighs will still dimple, like a two-liter bottle
pressed by a thumb, popping
out air from its open fish mouth.
Morgan Eklund’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, North American Review, Hippocampus Magazine, New Orleans Review, and Sequestrum. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Best New Poets anthology. Originally from Kentucky, she now lives in Chicago where she recently received her MFA in Poetry from Northwestern University.