E
Apr/May 2001 Poetry

Coop

by Mitchell Metz


 

Coop

Noisy ladies roost the machines
like firm breasted hens
clucking eggtales to a captive coop.

I bench press.

Plumped meats display in the mirrors,
promoted as free range.

I bench press.

Scented feathers nod together
in sweatless tete-a-tetes
over fitness methods, menus.

I bench press.

Enter the scarred fox, rump up,
musk stuck to her like barnyard blood;

tattooed by leghold teeth,
pelt matted with the muck of swum rivers,

she bench presses. I rise and fall.

 

Previous Piece go to forums Next Piece

What did you think?