Reading Greg’s “Fat Guy Syndrome’ post made me remember this poem I wrote last year.
The well oiled man,
wrinkled and sadly
orange with persistent instant tan
watches the nubile girls
sway, pelvises tilted with suggestion,
firmly up and down the hot sand;
he rolls covertly onto his swollen belly
to hide his evident appreciation
and subsequent satisfaction.
The well worn woman
comfortable in her floppy hat,
flips through the tired story in her book
in the shade of her umbrella;
she runs her hand over the
cropped grey hair on her head,
shyly shifts her hips and flaccid thighs
to avoid the disapproving glare
of her husband.
©Cindy Taylor 2008