My Pot Belly

It's comfortable, in a way --
something warm and soft to lay my
hands on in times of distress,
a companion who is larger than I am.
When I was 25, it crept up on me,
seeping into my middle,
announcing its presence with secret
signs --
dwindling numbers of holes in belts,
a consciousness of not standing up
straight.
A veritable hoarde of self!
A signifier of increased existence.