I’m gently drying my naked body
after a shower in the flat I live in
with my wife and son
thinking about how, when asked as a child,
I would say I wanted to be a Chippendale when I grow up.
I’m no longer chipper
enough to be a stripper. My abs did not sit up
as much as I imagined they would
and I don’t like thinking
about how often I would apologise
to future mothers-in-law on hen dos
for the hairs of my rear end
bearing down on the knees of their jeans. 
I’m filling the mirror of this bathroom with eyes
and hips that can remember dancing,
and lips I hope will remember to tell my son
if he wants to be a train
you’ve got to keep choo choo chooing.

© Carl Burkitt 2023