By Michael Walker
I strode into the crowded gym with a program
for that particular day, starting with sit-ups
on the floor, to flatten the stomach.
I stood up, legs apart knees straight,
to do some floor-touching exercises,
left and right, swivelling, loving
to feel the thigh and calf muscles stretching.
I checked out some of the weights machines:
the multi-press, sitting and pushing up weights
then a seat at the chest press, pushing out.
I did some rowing upstream then down
with the weight adjustment set low.
I was once a lightweight at exercise, although
I never wanted to be a muscle-bound body-builder.
I stepped onto the treadmill for the third scene,
pushed buttons for the tell-all red numbers onscreen;
the digits showed distance, minutes and seconds to run.
19: 55.I thought of Allen Ginsberg reading’Howl’at Six Gallery.
20: 00. I recalled the much-touted new millennium dawning.
20: 20. I thought of the ordinary, unknown people out there.
59: 55.’This gig has six seconds to run’, I thought.