His life was a lie that belied
his beguiling indifference to facts,
hard cold and empirical,
hurled masterfully into space,
kicking off the passive aggressive Olympics,
as the crowd nattered on distractedly,
while texting haphazardly,
tantamount to
the not so surprisingly robust
but wildly “inappropriate” moment
when he popped out of the “gateau”
at the bachelor party
wearing nothing more
than a lascivious Cheshire grin
and a lurid green sequined thong.
No one ate the cake.
In the aftermath of the spontaneous disclosure
of that which everyone already knew,
the awkward silence and averted eyes
that followed transformed into nervous chuckling
and tepid applause,
before being swallowed whole
in the stale air of the half empty room.
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