Front Bar at the Lone Star by Thom Gunn

Front Bar at the Lone Star               

Fat flesh egg

400 lbs. of him

set firmly on

the toothpick stool.

Fat, fat.

Styles change:

use a new word

and what you see is new.

Great not gross now,

chubby not fat.

Great flesh daddy,

chubby-chaser’s delight.

Contempt or pity

of twenty years

melted in admiration

Some feet distant

what slender youth!

gaze fixed on

this dream of quantity.

Encouraged, squeezes

to the adjacent stool:

just enough room

for flirting from.

The point of the heart-

shaped Raphael face

gave way to

the sporty chin

of the Gibson girl.

Styles change.

The democracy of it:

eventually everyone

can hope for a turn

at being wanted.