His hair is like a black dwarf with white freckles,
with eyes like sharp, jiggered icicles,
a nose like a white man in a lineup of Africans,
and a mouth like shredded onions should you choose to cross him.
His chest is like a cow’s udder ready to feed her young,
with a stomach like a hippo basking in the sun,
and stretch marks like cancer, savagely out of control,
and psoriasis like an angry storm of dusty dry snow.
His arms are like shoe strings dangling in the wind,
and hands like angels cover with sin,
his legs are like drum sticks, fresh but not young,
and his feet are like popsicles, but aren’t very yum.
His body is like a freak you would pay to see,
but he outweighs this freakiness with his personality.