in a game of strip poker
we remove the scarves first,
the weighty pearls next,
but never the cardigans we wear to hide our upper arms
while we move down the line
to the weigh-in.
All week, we scooped pot
cheese into lime green pop-
out measuring cups,
trimmed pork roasts and doubled
down on fish, made friends of
Swiss chard and Chinese cabbage,
like we should work at the U.N., sniffed at baguettes and brownies
on our way to the StairMaster.
The line shuffles forward.
It shifts from one hip to another.
Sweat catches in a tangle of underwire.
S.K. Tatiner, a student at the Writers Studio Advanced Poetry Workshop, lives and works in New Jersey. She is working on a chapbook about the lives of American girls and women. These three poems are from that work.