my gym visit

the stationary bike heard me approach
didn't bat an eye
looked away as i
mounted and began to spin, again
with everything i had and more
like a happy whore
i dug my loins into the chore
like a stimulated race horse
on a hard and fast course
i wasn't the track jumper
not bambi nor thumper
just another Sunday athlete over middle age
trying not to turn the page
become Apollo, gray like the gym cement
speckled in dark sweat
and yet
no amount of exercise or lifting
can keep these sands of time from shifting