The Handsome Fatboy

He's good looking.
A full head of hair,
strong brown eyes,
and a nice smile.
He's got a beard,
which many women like.
He is conventionally
attractive in the face.
He's got symmetrical features.

But he's fat.

Not out of shape,
not big-boned,
not husky, Rubenesque, or fluffy.

Just fat.

Over weight.
Heavy.
Too heavy to sit
on certain types of chairs,
like wicker or those
plastic ones for the lawn.
Too heavy to ride a roller coaster.

Thick and wide too.
Too thick and wide
to fit in the seats
on a plane or in a booth
at a diner comfortably.

You can see him adjusting his T-shirt,
pulling it down in front to cover
the bulge of his belly
that dips down
over his belt.
You can see him pulling at the waist
of his jeans, trying to keep them up,
keep them from falling too far
to expose the long, deep
crack of his ass.

And he breaths loudly at times,
sounding out of breath, even when
he's at rest. And you can hear it,
when he walks, and even more intensely
when he runs, though he never runs.
And he sweats too. All the time.
No matter what.

He makes fat jokes. He laughs
at himself. He pulls attention
toward his fat, the way gravity
pulls everything.
You can laugh with him, and you do.
Because he's the one making fun.
He's funny and he's handsome.
So, he's got that going for him.