Gym shirt, found.
It may be clean.
Pants on floor;
Not quite pristine.
Some shoes and socks
Sit behind the door.
In the chest of draw’rs.
Once clothed, I search for
Their countdowns incessant.
All smiles, bounces, talks –
The instructors jack and kick.
All grimaces and moans –
We viewers flop, anemic.
Seconds to minutes to more:
Intervals pass like kidney stones.
Three more, now two more, now ten;
Those liars grow happy from groans.
I cannot clearly see the moves,
As dripping sweat rains now and then.
I’m ready to admit defeat
When they say we’re cycling through again.
Why do I squat, jog, and jumping-jack,
Whilst watching a professional athlete?
I do not know. I can’t even think –
Until I hear them say, “Workout complete.”