Hips

God,
even at this late stage, please
give me hips, to spare me the
indignity of my trousers
falling down in the
presence of others, no matter how
tightly I tie my belt.

You wouldn’t want me to wear
braces would you, with all their
connotations of plutocrats or
paunchy old men shuffling in slippers?
No, make me for once like my wife, whose
gold-link belt seems to
swoon about her waist in defiance of
gravity and, dare I say it, you
God.