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.
12 repetitions.
10 repetitions.
8 repetitions.
Rest
“C’mon baby, big back,” says the spotter,
as his subject grips the rusted, staph-infected metal,
pushing rapid breaths through his pursed red lips.
He’ll do anything,
whatever it takes,
for a shot at divinity.
gutterpoems 