His life was lovely and bucolic
prior to his anabolic
stage wherein he played the game
of dosing up to gain a name
and a media barrage
descended on the small garage
where he went to lift more weight
than once he could anticipate.
His life became a mad mirage
of barbells, steroids —a barrage
of contests wherein he competed,
going largely undefeated—
a staircase leading to that time
when he, unchallenged and sublime,
ruled without apology,
a miracle of morphology.
Everybody knew his name.
A survivor, fit, top of his game,
in time his will began to flag
and everything began to sag.
His muscles gone to atrophy,
he is not what he used to be.
His bod of steel reduced to puddle,
he is more comfy now to cuddle,
and so he finds at an old age
that happily, he’s still the rage,
for the old ladies that he hustles
still want to feel his former muscles.