a certain type of man

Where are all the handsome men in khakis going?
What music do they listen to on their i-pods?
I want a listen.
I want a list.
Where do they sculpt their bodies?
Do they get a deal at the Y,
Or do they splurge and join the sports club?
Do they read?
Do they decorate their rooms,
Or paint them some manly color:
Grey, or brown, or blue?
Do they leave all of their loose change
In a tray on top of their dressers?
Do they keep pictures of their mothers,
Or a best friend who died in a car crash senior year
Beside the tray?
You see where I am going with this,
So I'll cut it short, and admit
That I have a fascination with a certain type of man
Whose life seems just so,
Who always smells fresh, or, at worst, neutral,
Who never ever sweats.