Four-Thirty In the Morning

At four-thirty in the morning,
he sits in his white, cotton
underpants on the edge of

the bed, his flabby body
shifting this way and that,
his gynecomastia (with large,

elongated nipples pointing
downward) spilling out and
resting on a protruding,

distended belly, fat rolling
over the top of his shorts.
Orange hair streams down

his face, over his ears and
around the base of his neck
revealing white, doughy, bald-

ness on the top of his scared
head. He brushes the hair
away from his eyes and eyes

himself in the mirror. He looks
away quickly in utter disgust
and then he angrily grabs his

phone on the bed stand and
goes on a twitter rampage.

1 thought on “Four-Thirty In the Morning

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