I look at my gut
in the mirror
I stand back as if
I was someone else
and assess
flab or muscle
is irrelevant
what I’m looking
for is the state
of the character
of the thing not the
paunch of kindness
or the washboard
of steel it’s just
in this middle
patch of flesh
where the knights
would aim their
shaken spears
I can see what
the future is making
of me inside
like a child
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