Saturday, 24 December 2011


At the council leisure centre
Cheaper than the LA fitness
Sporty spices shod in trainers
Clad in multicoloured lycra
Come for Zumba weekday mornings
This is where i pump the iron
With the steroid boys around me
I cannot be arsed to do drugs
It's a mug's game so they tell me
There are lots of tasty ladies
Running on electric treadmills
Buttocks pulsing to the rhythm
Of the ipods they are wearing
Bending down to touch their tootsies
Oh my word they'll catch me looking
I must never glance at titties
It is such a total no-no
I must concentrate on pushing
My envelope to the limit
Lifting pulling stretching crunching
I will soon resemble Arnie
Then the local chicks will dig me
Ask to touch my iron biceps
Quadriceps and mighty triceps
It is worth the daily effort
Keep an eye on what i'm eating
Carbohydrates are so evil
Alcohol is ganz verboten
Writing this is like the treadmill
Rhythmic flow cannot be broken
I would like to end this poem
But the words keep pounding pounding
Curse Longfellow for his metre
It is hard to break the trochees
Once the pen is set to paper
Hiawatha must have ended

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