© Copyright Geoffrey Byron Garwick. All Rights Reserved.
My God, there are a lot of ways To carve into a person. In the locker room you see them -- Hacked, whittled, head-to-toe, Back to front, sewn left, middle, right. The remnants some seamster joined Glisten with shower, sweat, tears. Recall that these ridged meat fabrics Are the ones surviving. The Impersonal Trainer squints, Stitching these outward signs Into pieces of motley quilts: Puce, onyx, pink designs. Time not only will erode us, It slices and dices Like the flying fingers, And heavenly droning patter of those State Fair barkers Who whiz their miracle knives for the crowd's delight, Dissecting bushels of veggies. The randomly knit logic of Flashing blades and hapless flesh Flays carrots into edible sticks And helpless skin to herringbone. Incising the athletic Y From stem to sternum, From delts to pecs to abs, For final workouts and glimpsing All that intimate embroidery. We run our laps. We toga drape our towels. We lift our weight. We limp under glass-dark rowels. Life maps our skin; We laugh, shrug, cry our howls.
2 Comments
evelynjane
5/31/2016 09:46:08 pm
Very powerful write.
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Adrienne Mayor
8/22/2017 11:50:44 am
always liked your writing!
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