April 29th poems
the first “Two for Tuesday” prompt is to write a poem about exercise. For most people, you either love it or hate it. If you do exercise regularly, it would be interesting to know whether you do it for the end result (that is, good health, a trim physique, etc.) or the process itself (just because it feels good to move).
Prompt #2 is a little more open-ended for people who don’t have any emotions whatsoever attached to exercise. For this prompt, I want you to write a poem in the 2nd person.
THE SWEAT OF MY BROW
Exercise? Now? In my later years?
Oh, sure. They tell me
There are a lot of wonderful reasons for seniors
To exercise.
And I understand - to a limited degree.
But I enjoy NOT exercising.
Let me tell you the truth.
I’m not enamored of exercise.
I had a bellyful of exercise when I was younger.
I played football, basketball, ran track.
I worked on our family farm,
Lifting heavy things, clearing fence rows,
Cutting timber.
Building fences, driving posts and stretching wire,
Wrestling livestock, holding down screaming shoats
While they’re losing their maleness.
Feed sacks and hay bales and harness.
Maneuvering heavy equipment.
Oh, g-o-o-o-o-d exercise!
Exercise? Tell me about it.
I didn’t get these arms and legs
from sitting on my ass,
Like I’m doing now -(and
Enjoying every moment of it!)
YOU, TOO
You swear that today you will do it.
You’ve signed up for a course in physical enhancement
At the local Y.
You registered at the front desk,
Motivated, of course, by a felt need for self-improvement,
And your wife’s insistence,
But also by the sight of shapely hard bodies,
Distinctly feminine,
Wandering around, sweating deliciously,
Towels around their necks,
Tanned legs and white shoes.
The landscape looks inviting.
But is this enough?
As you approach the entry doors of the big building
April 30th, 2008 at 11:48 pmYou are entertaining a few qualms.
You pause and look around.
Just across the street is Murphy’s Bar and Grill.
The gym bag you are carrying
Suddenly feels leaden.
It’s the middle of the afternoon,
And it’s hot.
The image of a frosted glass of ale
Passes through the window of your mind.
You look at the Y, and then look at Murphy’s.
Oh, well,
Maybe tomorrow.