Sunday, January 04, 2009

Revision: Workout

I honestly don't know where I'm going with this one - the previous version was an attempt to compare the tyrrany of the gym to the freedom of a solo jog, but it's not what I want from this poem. This version is more different than better, but still doesn't quite hit the sweet spot for me. Whatever.

Health - an exercise
in barrenness; a factory,
a fair of pain hid beneath
Victoria's ice-sweat streets.
We stretch and lift
in rows, video-plugged.
Music, heartbeats -
count the numbers, chart
some lines; programmes pre-set,
static conveyers to fitness.
Compete! A second less,
a kilo more, beat them!
Bulbs searchlight the park,
their beams stretch limbs - alien,
tangled branches, paths. I gasp,
hard breaths; heels lift and reach.
This is our game: to chase,
to lap; to catch fat geese.
I am a new merchant.
I trade endorphins, blood
to brain, an addict; a lover:
glory comes to those who strive!

No comments:

Post a Comment