Love Handles


United States
40° 49' 53.652" N, 97° 34' 5.016" W

Hanging plump from denim

lovingly hugging belt-loops

button fly, underwear elastic,

are my calzones, Ho-Ho's,

Decemberist naps.


Some would call you 'muffin-top'

and how fitting!

Willing to wager that my steady diet

of pancakes, cupcakes, carrot cakes,

ambition to be a beef-cake,

fear of looking like a fruit-cake,

led to my doughy physique,

frosted by moments of dessert menu regret.


Pioneer spirit labels you 'saddle bags'

bringing out the cowboy in me.

With these fatty flaps I could bull-whip banditos,

dismantle train tracks with badonka-donk dynamite,

until I remember that saddle bags are not worn

by the desperado, but the mule,

making me the jackass of the joke.


Comforting to have a 'spare tire'

just in case a friend blows a flat,

while finding a six pack;

"Don't worry,

I'm more than happy to lend you mine."


But for all the pet-names,

I choose to honor our romance,

affectionately calling you my

'love handles.'

Unlike the heart,

dropped and lost so easily,

I can't seem to get rid of you.

Loyal like my cravings,

never leaving my side,

growing like a jiggling chuckle.

Stair-Master's foe,

skinny jean's woe,

curves in all the wrong places,

giving me at least one thing

that I can hold on to.


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