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.