The Exercist: a Poet Muses over His Workouts
The Health Club
This Temple is the place where you and I
Approach the Sanctuary (for a fee)
To kill the fatted calf and pudgy thigh
And make our sacrifice to Vanity.
The Rowing Machine
It is a modern Mariner
Absorbed in reverie
In his imaginary shell
Upon a carpet sea.
He rows with simulated oars
His motionless machine—
The only craft he dares to board
Without his Dramamine.
The Shoulder Press
I know (although it sounds absurd)
The lead I’m lifting heavenward
Will settle in my arms. I hope
They still can reach the shower soap.
These handlebars won’t budge! I frown,
Then notice that some ape
Has pegged the weights ten notches down—
While I’m in top-notch shape.
Toned Up … And Down
From pumping iron and treading mill
His body fat is nearly nil.
So firmly toned is he, I think
That when he hits the pool he’ll sink.
The Lap Lanes
The CFO swims west to east,
Then leisurely swims back,
Relaxed and buoyant. (Here at least
The bottom line is black.)
“Toned Up … And Down” first appeared in Fitness & Wellness Times.