His six pack gradually hid itself
under his pot belly as he slid into old age.
He could rest his tea on it and a sandwich -
it was quite a handy shelf!
Of course, it remained a six pack
well, in his eyes, and who was I to enlighten him.
We'd both decided, without a word
that it was there, deep down.
Yes it was where we couldn't see it,
out of sight, ready to spring back
should the new diet work
and as I loved him, I didn't really care
but often, in the afternoons, when the sun goes down,
I stroke his rowing machine in the corner
and wonder - if he'll ever ride the waves
of the big bad ship again.
Ruth Walters
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hello-sailor/