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Six Pack
The ultimate American goal of every workout freak;
Diet and exercise as I seek that perfect physic.
Working to be ripped to shreds and cut to the bone;
With abs of steel exposing a six pack, well beyond tone.
Elusive is this for me, though the dream is still there;
Maybe I am cut if I look underneath all this belly hair.
Nope, slightly rounded, though I have worked off my tail;
So, more and more effort is put in, I obsessively still flail.
I look in the full length mirror critiquing , sucking in my gut;
My eyes are not pleased at all, though I do have a nice butt.
Sit ups, crunches, boats, roman chairs; all isolating my abs;
I haven't broke out is the ab weasel yet, nor the hot salves.
Six packs and Chevy's are as American as apple pie;
Yet, I don't ever think that I will please my critical eye.
Instead of a six pack, I may have to settle for a pony keg;
I can laugh at my obsessions as I am entering life's last leg.
12May09
Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades
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