Peter struts around the pool
a Fellini’d strongman
sheathed in a skin-tight top
and spandex briefs

A round bellied, fist of a man
his nose crooked, he stands a little bent
he’s no Adonis and knows it
but he holds his heads up high

Combing through the crowd
engorged with stories and jokes
slipping in and out of conversations
spreading compliments, pressing flesh

He comes on strong and in his wake
people comment in quiet ribbing tones
mocking his ballsy, bold bravado
thin-walled protection from themselves
feeling the pain of their puritan shame

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