You Are What You Eat

You are what you eat:
a thing with nine feet
that lives in the garden
and calls itself Pete.

You are what you eat:
a green three-piece suite
that plays you at cards
and knows when you cheat.

You are what you eat:
an oily bed sheet
that's been in the army
and smells of minced meat.

You are what you eat:
a pile of concrete
that's covered in spiders
and lives on the street.

You are what you eat.
Yes, you, Marguerite.
I've seen you at midnight.
You're not so discreet.

You are what you eat.
I shall not repeat.
Go look in the mirror
and that's your receipt.