Because the past five months
of chicken wings, television,
nostalgia, and stale beer
began splitting the seams of my
38 wwaists, inherited curses surfaced.
Father's lament, 'If it ain't one
thing, it's another! ' became mine,
as did his habit of slapping a frustrated
hand against the back of a neck bent
Staring at the threadbare denim
which covers my flesh and buries
my soul, I start to sweat.