Gym Fraud

All the gym's a stage And all the pale boys merely players; Unconvincing ones, too. At the theatre entrance I part with pride For a curious form of Vaudeville. The maxims of inertia invert. No longer are the masters Of the ruling class. To make up for their deficit, They perform: Cackle, strut, and prance disgustingly, Strive insensitively to sound “street,” To be street. (Street actors.) It must be black magic To float over concrete, To steer balls Into circles. Audience: the girls and I, But especially The dark magicians themselves, Who either sponsor their imitators, Or disapprove and sneer. Cheated of my cash again, I hurry backstage And recognize the actors Without their costumes, Sporting familiarity: Hollister, Jansport, Abercrombie. The bell rings; they exit; The shoe polish Washes off their faces; They morph Into rich white boys Once more.