You've seen them,
great heft entering a room
before their mustaches do.
Their off-center gravity a sign—
"I don't have to do the same things you do.
The laws of physics don't apply to me.
I don't have to be thin, or cute, or kind.
I eat what I want,
and I spend my time how I choose—
I oppress with the treadmill and am not cowed by it."
They die of heart attacks
and leave fortunes to their sons
who soon begin to puff up
and walk navel-first
just like their daddies.