The First Spring Day at the Farmer’s Market

The farmer’s market opened today.

He walked and walked and made his way

Among the people with short-sleeved shirts

And short shorts, which are back (not) to stay

Because of the way they look. It hurts

 

His eyes to see the pink, white side

Which a mid-summer’s tan might hide

From all the veins and spiders and blotches

Standing out with a long winter’s pride

Of cellulite stacked like a gun’s notches

 

On the cover of a girl’s white Bible

Given at Confirmation and liable

To keep the boy’s black faux leather

In it’s own place on the coffee table

Of life, the meeting of two happening never.

 

He went home and got ready for bed.

He stood in front of the mirror naked and well fed.

Without his pajama bottoms, he gazed at all

The bumps and lumps where muscles had been instead.

It was then he felt ashamed which cast a pall

 

On his supercilious judgments of those in short shorts.

So he decided to wear long pants of various sorts

To the gym and to the market all summer;

He didn’t want those who then looked great in shorts

To look at his lumps and bumps and think it’s a bummer.

 

Some old guys just don’t get it.

At some point, long pants are really with it.

He was afraid they would judge him accordingly

But he could daringly wear the shorts that fit

and hope they would treat him mercifully.

 

 

And not laugh behind his back.