Ballad of a Gym Rat
With a belt ‘round his waist
And his protein well-laced
And a swagger uncentered and looming,
The gym rat will enter
The weight training center
With an ego that’s whole-gym consuming.
He’s there with his bro,
And (what do you know)
You’d almost suspect they were queers:
Super-tight sweats,
Shirts tight-as-it-gets,
And their headphones are the over-the-ears.
Yet they clearly are leering
At a chick in the clearing
Who’s seductively swinging a weight,
And the interest expressed
Would seem to suggest
They most def’nitely maybe are straight.
They trek their way back
On towards a rack
Where another gym-goer is training.
Then our man grunts real low:
“Yo, you done with this, bro?
Or how many sets left remaining?”
With the spot thus secured
He’ll strut like a bird
—The colorful, big-feathered breed—
And steal a quick glance
To see if by chance
That weight-swinging chick paid him heed.
And he’ll look with affection
At his own swoll reflection
In the mirror as he picks up a weight,
And his buddy will nod
As he looks at his bod:
“Eff yeah!” he’ll approvingly state.
Then he’ll grunt and he’ll groan;
He’ll yell and he’ll moan
As he hoists the weight over his crown;
Then he’ll spit a loud swear,
And—to prove he don’t care—
He’ll dramatically smash it all down.
“I’m the BEST!!” he will say
In his own gym-bro way,
Which uses just grunts and guffaws.
And his buddy response
(Which is just what he wants)
Are some like-sounding words of applause.
“Now time for some chestie!”
He says to his bestie,
And they lumber on towards the bench.
And they spend a few rounds
Slapping on pounds
Of more weight as they sweat and they clench.
Then lo and behold!
—The moment’s worth gold—
Is this just pure luck or flirtation?
It’s the chick from the clearing,
And where is she steering
If not for right past the bros’ station!
“How perfectly fine!
It’s my time to shine!”
Thinks our hero out loud to his pal.
“Quick! Throw on some more!”
He says with a roar,
“I need to impress this thicc gal!”
“Another? but wait…”
Says his hesitant mate,
“We’re at max—and I don’t mean to doubt,
But are you really so sure?
It just seems premature.
This could rip your chest muscles right out!”
“Stop being a doubter!
There’s something about her”
Says our burly man of the hour.
“She inspires me so
That somehow I know
That for her could lift the whole tower!
“You’ve the mindset of rookies!
Throw on two more cookies!
And clap ‘em on real nice and loud.
I want her to see
As she passes by me
How to tell a real man from the crowd!
“Yes my biceps are killer
But the real hottie-thriller
Are the pectoral muscles I’ve spun.
As she sees my two pecs
Bulging taut in mid-flex
She’ll be dying to bear me a son!”
Then our spirited ace
Puts on a tough face
And adjusts his sweat-pants with a tug,
And throws to his lips
For some hydrating sips
His half-gallon hydrating jug.
Then slides ‘neath the bar
While his jealous co-star
Stands aside to leave him to fate.
He arches his back
And lifts off the rack:
Both elbows are locked out and straight.
And now comes the test:
Th’ bar’s down to his chest
—Movement timed to his dream-woman’s stroll—
Then a pang of concern!
As he feels the deep burn
At first in his chest then his soul.
Oh the deep, deep, deep dread!
She is focused ahead
And waves to a guy she must know.
She blows him a kiss—
What bullcrap is this!
What was even the point of this show??
Not even a glance
As she winks in advance
(Though not to our down-trodden mate,
Whose spirit is sapped
Twinly finding self trapped
By unbearable burdens of weight.)
Says his bro: “It’s ok”
In a calm soothing way,
“Let me help you unburden your grief.”
Then helps him put back
The bar on the rack
With an inwardly sigh or relief.
