Though in actuality, it’s just been seven months.
When you had those noodle arms-- fideos brazos.
But I adored you anyway; I'm not superficial
like that. No, I’m not shallow at all.
Nonetheless you wanted to "get fit"--
you challenged yourself
with diet, exercise, and Kinect UFC trainer.
Each day 10 push-ups, 10 arnold presses,
Every day with more weights,
dumb bells and training vests. Then
energy drinks, protein bars, and recovery shakes.
The one small glass of red wine "for your health".
I do not recognize you these days.
You are a different person; you don't look the same.
I falter. This new macho man with muscles
and strength who picks me up
roughly with abandon and spins me around
without care or thought
Somehow
is transformed.
As you built your muscles, you also built
gear. With a mask you obscure your face,
you hide yourself behind plastic and fabric
Some paint and dust—weathering. Glue and velcro,
military uniform, black and tan and gunmetal grey,
camouflage green and you become something
a little more sinister, a little more volatile
terror shivers through me, wild and unrestrained.
Are you still the noodle under there or have you
become a rebel guerilla inside?
Do I care?
Will I flee in fear, or perhaps I will
don my own disguise and join you
in overthrowing the world, my friend.
***This is a poem I wrote in response to my dearest's current obession with the new Batman Movie; the Dark Knight Rises and his Bane cosplay he is working on for opening night. A Girlfriend's Review of the Dark Knight Rises.
