A guy at the gym struts his stomach bulge past the workout mat where I’m doing crunches

blind to 

the smoke signals my pink
hued brain sends to my eyes

quick hide …pretend you didn’t see him 

he pauses

No, no, no, no, no

says hello and flings his mat down next to mine
and I smile

(why do I do that?)

He points at my core where my abs lay coiled, 

googles a work out video and says, “You’re doing it all wrong.”

I stare at the lumpy flesh above his hand, imagine the pride within  his mother’s fingers as she cuts the blue, “it’s a boy” bracelet from the hospital in two, 

 tapes it carefully into his baby book while his father puffs on a cigar 

tells  her, 

“Why don’t you go make dinner?”