Power arms. Spanning biceps. Hands bigger than today. Muscle shirt. Gray sweatpants. Sneakers whiter than the floor. From behind his shoulders threaten the rest. A gorilla walk, hairy fingers flicking the air, he climbs aboard a metal bar which holds his weight with interlocked feet and sideburns that trail down his convexo-chin. Descend. Ascend. Eleven more trips. Shake it all out. Veins dancing like Egyptian snakes. Punch the punching bag. Squats. Water. Steroids. Jacks. Sweat turning everything darker gray, he watches the mirror like an adversary, his smile not wildly mad but a candid shot of teeth and lips curling upward.
published 15 June 2013