manufactures
glycerol
and
uric
acid,
he
sits
expressionless.
Humpty
Dumpty
in
his
enraptured
stupefaction
at
falling
off
a
brick
wall,
only
to
shatter
as
though
nothing
whatsoever
was
the
matter,
mirrors
him.
Yet
in
his
mind
he’s
hoity-‐toity,
basking
in
a
plein
air
paradise
of
nudes
posing
just
for
him
on
the
free
sex
website,
craving
his
passionate
advances
and
irresistible
body.
As
the
waitress
delivers
to
him
a
plate
overloaded
with
nacho
chips
that
boasts
big
scoops
of
crumpled
hamburger,
refried
beans,
jalapeños
and
melted
cheddar,
I
shudder
at
such
masochism.
I
doubt
even
Henry
VIII
with
his
total
lack
of
grace
or
concern
for
appearance
would
stuff
his
bloated
face
so
publicly.
What
beating
heart
could
atone
for
such
complete
emasculation
of
body,
mind
and
soul?
There
simply
is
no
home
for
one
so
lonely
and
displaced.
No
life,
no
God,
no
death.
And
then
just
as
the
Jets
cornerback
leaps
up
in
front
of
a
receiver
and
snags
an
interception,
the
waitress
arrives
at
the
glutton’s
table
with
another
plate,
this
one
featuring
a
giant
burger
with
mound
of
oily
thick
cut
French
fries.
His
trompe
l’oeil
reward
rests
in
perverted
pleasure
at
the
drowning
of
deep
depression
in
the
molten
magma
of
cholesterol
and
cancer-‐producing
lipids.
He
digs
in,
bringing
a
wry
smile
to
his
distorted
face.
What
a
strange
race
23