There’s a swingers party of one
in the hall of mirrors
Duke calls a gymnasium.
The critically acclaimed author
of unintentional comedy,
“My Glamourous Glutes”
is too busy licking his reflections
to notice the twins
have learnt to climb like cat burglars.
Gale force winds send his teetering tiny tots
toppling over the balcony.
Catatonic with self-admiration,
Duke is oblivious to their screams.
The founder of the world’s first selfie stick museum,
can’t afford to be distracted
from flexing his eight pack.
Duke might have spotted the enemy drone,
if he weren’t dreaming about fucking his clone.
Fearful of marring such perfection,
the contract killer hesitates too long.
Duke retreats to the bottom
of his rooftop diving pool.
Transfixed by underwater mirrors,
he forgets to take a breath.
His wife collapses in the doorway,
paralytic with grief.
Duke looks more vibrant in death,
than she does in life.