Whatever It Takes!
Reads the florescent green insignia
on the ripped cloth dangling from his neck.
A room filled with Barbie dolls,
And G.I. Joes,
Encased in funhouse mirrors.
“C’mon baby, big back,” says the spotter,
As his subject grips the rusted, staph-infected metal,
Pushing rapid breaths through his pouted red lips.
He’d rather atrophy now
For that brief picture of divinity.