Dan Giancola
The Fat War
Before the club's fit
proprietress snares you
in her smile's grip
a miasmic assemblage
greets you - body odor,
gym sock funk - & the soft
fluorescent air wafts
an orgy's sighs and grunts.
What's going on in there?
A lithe brunette
bends to stretch her hammies,
flops on the abductor's seat
to pantomime a stripper's lewd
manoeuvres , the machine's
hinges creaking like the cheap
mattress of my prurient dreams.
I'll need a guide
to steer me through this maze
of ergonomic chrome, a trainer
to achieve the muscle tone
of that behemoth in the corner:
loopy veins bulging, he stares
down his mirrored twin
curling barbell I's;
lactic acid flushes his bi-
ceps hardening into hand-grenades,
ordnance for The Fat War.
A portly fellow sports
a fanny-pac, flexes
fleshy pecs for Reubenesque
matrons clad in too-tight spandex;
a puny ephebe moans
beneath the weight betraying
his Hulk-like will to press,
while small talk's buff authors
gawk & joke & bray
daub at sweat
& cruise the talent.
They discuss power bars
& protein, disingenuous
as muscles & good health,
& the proprietiess' Rodin arms
open as if to say this wealth
of comradery & charm
too could be mine, her faux
grin spreading like a logo.
proprietress snares you
in her smile's grip
a miasmic assemblage
greets you - body odor,
gym sock funk - & the soft
fluorescent air wafts
an orgy's sighs and grunts.
What's going on in there?
A lithe brunette
bends to stretch her hammies,
flops on the abductor's seat
to pantomime a stripper's lewd
manoeuvres , the machine's
hinges creaking like the cheap
mattress of my prurient dreams.
I'll need a guide
to steer me through this maze
of ergonomic chrome, a trainer
to achieve the muscle tone
of that behemoth in the corner:
loopy veins bulging, he stares
down his mirrored twin
curling barbell I's;
lactic acid flushes his bi-
ceps hardening into hand-grenades,
ordnance for The Fat War.
A portly fellow sports
a fanny-pac, flexes
fleshy pecs for Reubenesque
matrons clad in too-tight spandex;
a puny ephebe moans
beneath the weight betraying
his Hulk-like will to press,
while small talk's buff authors
gawk & joke & bray
daub at sweat
& cruise the talent.
They discuss power bars
& protein, disingenuous
as muscles & good health,
& the proprietiess' Rodin arms
open as if to say this wealth
of comradery & charm
too could be mine, her faux
grin spreading like a logo.
Page(s) 27-29
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