I need to a blog-post about my newfound love-hate romance with the gym. But I can only think in poetry right now!
It was most odd,
This slow flexing of fledgling muscle…
I flexed and I was Tithonus,
Not just because he’s Greek!
I flexed and I was Tithonus
Who, with the Mt. Locker-Room Gods, dare not speak.
Tithonus, granted immortal flexion because he generously paid,
Tithonus, immortal, ashenly half-beautiful, but also very staid.
Tithonus, who shied away from ambrosial sweat and pertly called it “Perspiration!”
Tithonus, who found himself denying his persuasion.
Tithonus, given immortality but not eternal youth,
Tithonus, who refused to reveal his imperfect, shirtless truth.
The Mt. Locker-Room Gods, they’ve never known spare flesh.
This Tithonus, mortal after all, is metal in earth enmeshed.
It’s this mortal coil’s self-deception
That leads from flexion to reflection.
Today, I caught myself flexing and hated myself.
Today, I caught myself flexing, so elevated myself
By over-analyzing it.
