January brings sweet pie crust promises,
so easily made and effortlessly broken.
While my sofa creaks beneath good intentions,
As carrot cake still declares itself a healthy salad.

Gym memberships
and weight loss programs multiply,
like my calorie-counting motivation,
that I will probably grow bored of by spring,
as I swear that this year I will get fit.
Just like last year,
and the year before.

My to-do lists stretch longer than my Christmas credit card bill,
while the front cover of my new planner encouragingly exclaims

Get organised!

This will probably lay forgotten by March,
next to my old dusty yoga mat.
Yet, another failed quest
for Zen and mindfulness.

But here I am again,
recycling hopes
like yesterday's Asti bottles,
as I believe in the magic of midnight.

When the calendar pages flip over
and suddenly,
everyone is engrossed
in the thoughts of New Year,
New me resolutions.

Like I'm supposed to become
A marathon-running
Smoothie-drinking
Organised
Book-reading
Healthy­ eating
Meditation guru
Who still can't resist
Tucking into pizza at midnight?!

Maybe this year I will just resolve
To be a little kinder to the me
Who tries
And fails
And tries again
And fails.

©️Lizzie Bevis