By Patrick Kindig

I plunge my hand into my husband’s gut
& squeeze. He giggles, doubles over

like an uncovered pill bug.
He has never had a gut before. We

are both taking pleasure in it,
this soft appendage extending

his silhouette. Of course, he is also
taking some shame. Once,

his stomach was ribbed & rigid
like a Victorian corset. Unlike me,

he never knew his body
to grow unexpectedly, never fingered

an expanding love handle. Now
he has. Now

we take turns touching his tum
& laughing like young mothers, delighted

to discover a new fold in the baby’s
arm. Sometimes

we press our bellies together
& jiggle them. For some reason,

we call this the jam
sandwich. Who knows why.

All I know is it makes me feel
like a child, doing something silly

& a little naughty, joystruck
by all our bodies can be.

---

Patrick Kindig is the author of the forthcoming poetry collection fascinations (Finishing Line Press 2025), the chapbook all the catholic gods (Seven Kitchens Press 2019), and the micro-chapbook Dry Spell (Porkbelly Press 2016) as well as the academic monograph Fascination: Trance, Enchantment, and American Modernity (Louisiana State University Press 2022). His poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, The Cincinnati Review, Colorado Review, Washington Square Review, Copper Nickel, and other journals. He currently lives and teaches in rural Texas.