strong man

he works hard, selling bolts, nails and washers to companies.

driving around, sometimes goes interstate

on a plane.  he wants to move up, promoted to the echelons.

he sweats it out in the gym, has good muscles.

when you meet him you notice he often wears a tight t-shirt

that rises up his biceps.

I’ve seen him in a fight, he can’t fight.  he cries.

his car is one of those big utilities with big chrome roll bars

and big wheels.

I saw tears fall from his eyes when at the traffic lights

a young bogan pulled him from his big car over a failure to indicate.

the tears fell onto the intersection,

to be later driven over by endless traffic.  they are still being driven over.

sometimes you wonder if people exist.

if you exist.

if tears exist.

maybe we are all just an empty flux of energy with no definite substance,

crying over nothing.

this man’s girlfriend, the man who cried, keeps on looking at me

at BBQ’s.

Cindy has legs like a deer prancing in a forest.

Cindy has that look in her eye which says, I am looking for the father

of my future children, are you the one with golden sperm?

a proper job?

house?

lawn?

well I’ve never really had a proper job.  wouldn’t know how.

but a hard-on, young lady, I can get one of those very easily.

and I can come in five seconds flat.

her hair is in the French chic bob style,

dyes it jet  black

and is often seen in brightly coloured fishnet stockings.

she smokes cigars, strangely,

and when eighteen she posed naked for an Australian men’s magazine,

called Innocent,

to which her boyfriend, the one who cries in fights, is very touchy about

if you allude to it in conversation.