good enough

the muscled
arm, curled and veined,
bulging
at the bicep
out of the shorn shirt.
ripped
and bronzed.
he's holding
a vanilla latte
outside the coffee shop.
there's a tattoo of
a mouse
in a cape, a yellow
suit.
mighty mouse, you
remember from
childhood.
he's coming to save
the day.
the muscle flexes,
he looks around to see
if anyone is watching,
then wipes
a line of foam
from his lips.
as you drive home,
you feel your own arm.
you flex.
it's okay. you can still
open jars
and bottles.
small cans of spinach.
good enough.