(to the tune of "Sound of Silence")
Hello Gym, you're not my friend
You're talking-weight-scale oft offends
I want to throw those Yoga Balls at you
And toss my worn Cross-Trainer shoes in too
and the barbells
that are now planted in my chest
I regret
Wait, who's
That new
Fitness trainer?
Suck in my gut, tighten my butt
S'cuse me...gluteus maximus.
Isometrics and Body Mass Index
Bench presses and curls for my biceps
And sit-ups
That's what Middle Management means?
In my dreams
Wait, here comes
That new
Fitness trainer.
From cinnamon buns to buns of steel
"Feel the burn!", the trainer squeals.
"Work those pecs and glutes, those tri's and bi's
Hammies, lats...did you detoxify?!"
My heavy breathing
Is a sound I'd rather hear in bed
That's what I said
I must silence
My fitness
trainer.
Note: I wrote the above poem for a poetry contest called "Write it to the Tune of". I was given this song, "Sound of Silence", to work with. I lost the poetry contest fair and square. I agreed wholeheartedly with the judge's decision (fellow poetry writer aka peer) and I will post it here for you. It's written by Gilliat Gurgle (no one used their real names there, mine was Melanie)
Hello Weber my old friend.
I’ve come to grill with you again.
Charcoal briquettes are piled high.
A gallon of fluid lights the sky.
And the Hickory smoke that is wafting in my face,
I embrace
I hold the tongs of power.
Brats are hot and start to swell.
New York Strip is medium well.
Shrimp on the grill are swimming.
Glazed chicken legs are dancing.
To the tune of the flashing briquettes light,
that sparks the night.
I hold the tongs of power. ~ Gilliat Gurgle (pen name)
I had the thought of"Dumbbells and Barbells"....
