He wears out
every mirror in the house
with his man-boy posing,
adopting the constipated chicken look
of glossy be-like-me-if-you-dare brainless magazines
aimed at generating discontent with whatever or whoever
you really are.
Biceps immense, flexing, rounded
in young man glory
pecs a-twitching, just for fun
and clean shaven chest, smooth and sexy
‘cos girls aren’t into body hair these days, apparently
(except for me – am I kinky, or what?)
Good God! Where else does he shave?
How do I break it to him
that I’m sure he has gorilla ancestry?
Just look at his dad
and his dad’s dad too …
but let it rest, don’t try to tell him what to do,
let him flaunt undaunted darkly arching eyebrows
atop long-lashed eyes of alluring green—
unknown depths
eyes an angel would kill for
Six-foot-two and counting … not yet done, my son
with more to come,
and still hiding his vulnerable heart
One last darting mirror check
I smile, and take a mental photograph
as my once-baby boy
struts out the front door
to take on his future
dressed
to kill
all competition
armed
only
with his innocent spirit
|
