Tubi or not tubi? Spandex constriction,
Stretching enclosure—if too tight, I’ll suffer
From clinging narrow garment, fabric-formed tube.
It cannot harm my arm, ’tis not that snuggling,
But compression sessions are more than skin-deep
As it grips the limb to which I append
It, pulling it as to knees a pair of socks.
Or a squeezing sleeve for exsanguination.
If I decide anon to don it and keep
It on, I’ll have to doff it for the tub
Or under hot shower water that runs.
I cannot rub on moisturizing oil.
My quest begs a big questions: Elect
To sport this Spandex clamp? Perhaps let it lie
Limp upon a closet shelf? and say, “Fine
And so long! Ye will just a costume be!”
If I were to shy from and file it away,
The transient hurt from no stretched mesh might return,
The pain causing me to ache and quake,
Take quieting products Big Pharma makes.
They cause the body to be far from care,
Far better than sweating under the knife,
Definitely better than dreaded meth—
Though they comfort, dependence can be born
On the innocent-looking little pills.
Wear ware to assuage grief and thus to salve?
I'll not find answers shining from above.
I'll have to summon strength and make the call;
And yet I succumb to irresolution:
I can’t adjudge: to slap it on or not?
My thoughts, running hot and cold, in foment.
I am cursed as an indecisive guy,
Unable either way to make a vow.

Flee then, go fleet of foot to hooch horizon.
Be on a gin-spree bender.