They met upon the riverbank
Both chiselled like reliefs
To best show off the work they’d done
They stripped down to their briefs

And it may have been the nighttime air
Or lunatic influence
But a gibbous admiration waned
Into indifference

The water’s edge was silted up, and one
Seeing that he lacked,
Painted mud upon his abs
And was suddenly ten-packed

His partner spied the subterfuge 
As the scum begun to run
And scooped up an oily glob of mud
And smeared over the other’s tum.

Wisps shivered through the darkened sky
And let the moon beam bright
Revealing the mostly muddy muck 
Was also slightly shite

Indifference turned to anger 
(As far as retching allowed)
And a veil was drawn over the scene
As the moon hid again in cloud

Noises reaching the far shore puzzled
- it really was rather foxing:
As the squelch and thud and yelp and cry
Was not quite that of boxing

But that is what the men believed 
That they were now about
And failed to notice as sun crept up
They raged on a redoubt

Separated from their clothes as the tide 
Emphatically had turned
They paced a reducing ring of muck 
As round the water churned

Both caked in cack, neither backed 
Down from the fight
But the mess they were in slowly sunk in
As up crept the morning light

Dog walkers wondered at the scene
Joggers slowed to trot
Marvelling at the bemerded muscled men   
Who hugged upon a clot

Neither strong a swimmer, 
They rather grappled each to each 
To retain the scantest foothold 
On the scantest bit of beach

But that submerged and sunk the hope 
Of remaining high and dry
So wading, plunging, back they swam
To the delight of the passers-by

It took a while as their muscle meat
Was built for show not power  
But finally glistening, pumped, they emerged
It could have been their finest hour

But phone cameras filmed and crowd adored
Not glistening thews ashine 
But two shivering, shit-streaked simpletons 
Now immortalised online.