Leg Day

I bent to put a book away
And thought “Perhaps I’ll stay down here,”
And then “Will this fit in a tweet?”
Into my office I retreat
The largest stall, I’ll multitask
While choking pissy dribbles out
Into this handy WordPress app
And in the toilet, not my pants
Until The Spot shows up, the dreaded harbinger
Of age or something
Maybe that I’m bad at shaking out my own urethra
At almost 40 years you would have thought I’d have improved.

I should have curled up on the floor
Until they dragged me off, away
Instead I rose, arose, I get up
Get up get up get up
Thousands, millions, squatting, pushing
Every day is leg day
Leg day
Stand up
That’s the curse of lifting
Living
Leg day
If you lift or not
Leg day’s the one you cannot skip
Until you’re chained to chair or bed
Or box
The earth

They should have sent a poet
To the work restroom
But all you’ve got
Is pissy Bob
Still pissing, dribbling
Moaning, pissing
On this spot

Here comes the headache
Pounding
Will this fit a tweet?
No, it will not.

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