Atlas

He is an elementary school globe, tipped slightly on its axis, trying to keep himself from teetering and/or tottering when he stands and grasps the pole in anticipation of exiting the bus. He tries to appear as if he’s not struggling, but the sweat beading his hairline high atop his head and between his multiple chins belies this.
His arms are too short for his body, or perhaps only seem that way, given that his enormous girth prevents them from dangling by his sides. The hands are surprisingly small, pivoting on the most delicate of wrists.
I cannot bear his burden.