It's been awhile, I know, but today I finally found something that moved me to poetry. My muse? The very bizarre looking man on the elliptical machine next to mine at the gym. In brief, he had divided his hair in half and dyed the right half pitch black and the left half platinum blonde. Odd - but odder still was the fact that he was wearing something that resembled a trashbag for a shirt. I'm sure it was some very expensive mini-sauna or something and he was really, really cool for owning one. However, call me lame, but tent-like trashbag shirts don't impress me much. On top of all this, I swear he was flashing his best "blue steel" in the mirror for a good 40 minutes, which takes incredible stamina considering he was doing it while working out in a plastic shirt. I've dubbed him "Dirk" and wrote another god-awful poem about him. Here goes:
Sweat on, Dirk. Layers
of plastic and bleach can't hide
the tiger inside.
3 Comments:
So, have you developed a story for Dirk yet? What is his job? Hobbies?
I'm very glad that you've begun to take part in the time honored tradition of making fun of crazy people at the gym. It makes working out that much more satisfying...
Dirk is 37 years old, single, and still hasn't come to terms yet with the fact that he's a homosexual. He religiously works out every day in his trashbag shirt to fill the void that was left in his heart after his pet toy poodle died in a freak hot tub accident. His hobbies include listening to Slipknot in public, but Celine Dion in private and punishing his pecs.
i knew a guy in college named dirk . . .you described him perfectly. i mean PERFECTLY.
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