Sometimes exercise must include a compromise.
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:
Mad Kane Humor: “stare” or “stair” – LIMERICK
Six-Word Saturday: See subtitle
Adapted by this user from vintage/public domain artwork