A sideways short story site
You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
Exercise
November 9, 2012
— exercise, getting fat, poem, poem about weight lifting, prize fighter, sport poems, sport poetry, wine boxes, working out
By D. S. Maolalaí
Well there’s bones and there’s muscle
and a hard white soul that
neither of them connect to.
And you can exercise or you
can go fat
but if you do both
or try one then the other
you end up aching
and not able to move.
Two days ago we made the mistake -
me and my buddy Noony
neither of us looking so good
we decided to lift things
and make ourselves into
better people.
So we pulled weights and ran
and sweated,
twisted our skinny arms
into brittle knotting
while we watched
the strange, de-sexed sight
of women
gripped in tight clothes.
Well, like I say
it’s been two days.
I still can’t fully extend my arms
or walk straight
and I havta go to work soon and move boxes of wine.
I can’t avoid it ‘cos
one of the guys is a prize fighter,
16th or 17th best in Europe
he says
and he moves things with
his face broken so I can move them with
sore arms.
I’m not sure what I’m trying to say
I guess don’t exercise
go fat.
*
D. S. Maolalai studies English at Trinity College. He has been trying to be a writer for years, with little success until very recently. He currently lives in Dublin, but plans to leave as soon as possible.
