MONDAY: Waiting / The Gym


Copyright is held by the author.


I pace impatiently in front of the window,
peering outside for you and
your bike on my driveway,
looking away,
only to make time go by faster.
I’ll hear the sound of tire on pavement,
and I’ll feel that accustomed
lurch in the pit of my stomach
as the doorbell rings,
never when I expect it,
but even when I do I still
jump at the sound
every time you come by —
the rush I get as I run — patterpatterpatter —
down the stairs,
the sight of you leaning on my doorframe
through the wonky glass,
the sharp inhale I take as I open the door
as I see you clearly,
smiling sheepishly,
waiting there,
waiting to see me too.


The Gym
sweating bodies
watch sweating bodies
exert all their human strength
in a room full of strangers to see
the range of their monkey abilities,
chin up, chin down, legs out, legs in,
if the end came,
he’d be fittest,
she’d be fittest,
because Fatties won’t fit
on the Arc.

eyes avert as soon as they meet
pretending they don’t care
how fast she’s running on the treadmill,
what level he’s ellipticating on the elliptical,
even though that’s all they care about,
comparing, competing, craving,
all single for the hour,
a Lululemon orgy,
chin up, chin down, legs out, legs in,
gulping at the hot, recycled air
to sustain a body.