When I stare at my bare reflection,
I observe more than one objection.
Time and the table have not been kind
To either me or my behind!
Where I should have "six pack" abs,
I have a serious case of the "flabs;"
And my all too visible obliques
Are not what you'd really call "sleek."
My biceps have no strength
And my triceps have too much length!
And then there's my Gluteus Maximus--
"Junk in my trunk" the size of a minibus!
I dragged myself to the gym
In hopes that I might get slim.
I know I should get fit,
Even though I'd rather sit.
I signed up for a class
I hope will trim my ass.
They call it "Silver Sneakers,"
And it's just for us old 'creakers."
The graying and the bald
All come, like we've been called,
To stretch and strain and sweat
Our way to a slight silhouette.
The Goddess of Pain issues commands
Involving these taut rubber bands;
If we want to be rid of the flabs,
We must suck in our abs!
She is so lithe and svelte,
We believe our fat will melt.
We hang on her every word
Like lemmings in a herd!
There is not one among us
Who'll be Venus or Adonis,
But we just might succeed in
Improving on our breathing.
All of that gyration
Will increase the circulation;
And ramping up the heart rate
Just might delay our death date!
An original poem by Eva Gallant