Strain

hubris-flavoured hair gel
down the side of his beaming head
transfixed in a gaze
toward the other side of the room
sweat gathering
soaking through the creases of his ironed white shirt
beige designer umbrella, $7.99
grip tight slip-slide
“well, hey mate!”
reciting his script
greasing the hinges, the bolts
where he puts himself
animal eyes left and right
scolding his twitching chest
the organ can’t forget
even in the iron-cased chair
before the inferior and after the superior
between a hundred other chest protrusions in a line
all slick with the shine
of protein-powdered biceps
cock-scented calculators
sum it up for him,
the greatness of being one like the others.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s