30 March 2006

The Tadpole #4

My one concession to maternity wear.
Yesterday, after a morning of grimacing and constant posture-shifting, I finally decided to buy some proper maternity pants for work. On the off-chance that anyone is reading this besides members of my direct family; and you happen to be a pregnant woman with fifty bucks to spend and your waistband is driving you nuts, please take heed! I bought the black elastane bootleg slacks from Pumpkin Patch . They are undeniably fabulous. How fabulous? Well, I don't often write poetry about trousers, but:

Ode to my stretchy pants

O stretchy pants, my stretchy pants,
Encircling my protuberance,
Protecting it from prying eyes
And unforgiving button-flies.

O stretchy pants, my stretchy pants
Harbinger of deliverance
From safety pins and bits of string
And dungarees unflattering.

O stretchy pants, my stretchy pants,
Personifying tolerance,
Accommodating without fuss,
My e'er expanding uterus.

O stretchy pants, my stretchy pants,
You bring upon my countenance
A soft smile and unfurrowed brow
'Cause naught shall come between us now.

1 comment:

  1. I'm speechless. I'm so in awe of the fact that you never, ever shy away from seemingly un-rhyme-able words. Or opportunities to mention your uterus. Nice work, Bruddy.