Sometimes exercise must include a compromise.
Treading Plodder
A rhyming bill on the dreaded 'mill
The gym is a needful
nightmare.
I’d much rather run
open air.
I’m not one to quack,
But the track hurts my
back.
And the treadmill does
draw me to stare.
It’s
climate-controlled, but a drag.
Aromas expressed make
me gag.
Don’t look left or
right;
The freaks give me
fright,
Although I’ve no
reason to brag.
I’m glad to come in
from the cold,
But I shudder some
sights to behold.
So I pound out each
pace,
Guarding personal
space.
Perhaps I am just softer
souled.
c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson
This poem was posted
in response to these prompts:
JustJoJan
/ But I Smile Anyway: “compromise”
Mad
Kane Humor: “stare” or “stair” – LIMERICK
Six-Word Saturday:
See subtitle
Image/s:
Adapted by this user from vintage/public
domain artwork
