Jeans
How do I outgrow thee? Let me count the ways.
I outgrow thee to the depth and breadth and bulk
My rear can reach when spreading out of sight
From the best Godivas and crème brûlée.
I outgrow thee to the level of every day's
Perilous ounce on scale and upper thigh.
I outgrow thee fat-freely, with scores of Baked Lays.
I outgrow thee purely, with no artificial sweeteners.
I outgrow thee with the passion put to use
In my new marriage and its Date Night pizzas.
I outgrow thee with fleshy rolls I thought I'd lost
In adolescence—with the pudge, pinch, and body-shaming
Of all my nightmares. And this I know surely:
Thou shall but fit me less well after washing.
by Alice Batt
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Alice Batt lives with 3 males (one grown and two nearly grown) in fewer than 1,200 square feet. Her life is a mind-numbing buzz of computer-game trivia, "percussion vs. tuba" rivalries, and roundhouse kicks to the head (not her own head, usually). For fun she spews invectives at Austin traffic and tries not to get thrown into fences by thoroughbreds.