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February 25, 2012

Flat and inclined benches. I’m fingering this
poem, but I don’t know what to write about
and now the flat bench is being taken by some bald
guy with a turtle like scalp and I just have to sit
here and wait for him to get off or I could use the
incline bench so I run over and grab it
before someone else could take the bench and leave
the weights all un-racked which is against the
gym rules but no one wants to ever abide them unless
someone tells them I got my cat stuck in my head
crawling around and I can’t get her out of my head and I just
want to think of something else other than that she is dying
and there isn’t much I can do about it‒I have to pause and
take a break between sets or I’ll drop the bar on my chest which
will smart really bad‒ kidney disease diagnoses leaves about three
years before an inevitable death take her in and treat her like a
lab rat constantly being stuck by needles and all she wants to do
is eat her high fat food and be an elderly cat‒an additional ten
pounds might be a good idea just a little heavier pushing heavy weight into my
muscle and my chest’s bones and just hurting enough for me to know where I
am currently with my calico back in the vets office telling me the
starting costs for a treatment that isn’t a guarantee to help her
live beyond two years I sit back in the green covered stool and look
at the floor and I hate this man for not lying to me instead I don’t
know what to do and I’m lifting one-hundred and eighty pounds
in a gym thinking about my dying cat while wiping down the
pads of the bench and I leave the gym to go back into that doctor’s room.


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