30 Poems in 30 Days: 1

Poem 10 Minutes Before Workout

Because this is the time when I feel
least poetic, when my body is gathering itself,
limb by limb and muscle by aching muscle,
into a preparatory fist, all pragmatic gristle
and bone and terrible bent knuckles, making itself ready
to spring against the world in a terrific and
entirely unnecessary explosion of invented
energy.
             Think of all that wasted work, all those human
engines burning up hundreds of calories in a closed room,
all that fire fueling a frantic dance on the head
of an expensive pin, or three square feet of
YMCA real estate. 
                               Isn't it a beautiful thought?

The sweating heaving faces of my unknown neighbors,
strangers practically naked under tight spandex, all of them
throwing themselves against the music, against the overheated
air, throwing themselves away, over and over, against
the end of another day, against the end of all their days,
against the idea of the ultimate poetry.