Alpha Male Ballet

by Steven J. Serafiani

The alpha male ballet puffed
out in Matryoshka fashion;
striped.

I love dives,
it’s a native restless never
wrestled dictionary kinda vibe.

Now, I don’t look down, kinda
envy machismo grandeur. I’d like
to be able to pulp.

I can, if the inconsiderate
insists but I feel more
validated being mensa.

Most women swoon for these, not
sure why, primal reachback most
likely the regimen.

But I can too, if occasion
rises; if temper flares just
enough for an alleyway tough.

Not tonight. Tonight I
write. Tonight I bruise my
own.

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