O
The flair of doing one’s thing at a Jack LaLane’s
Is long since past
I’ve even forgotten the thrill of biking shoes
And riding fast
Now the thought of a jog through Jersey hills
Is as much a joy
as a self inflicted flogging
and my perfectly technological treadmill stands
As silent as a day in mourning.
O
Degeneracy, degeneracy
Chins multiply and muscles contract
The belly’s as large as a garbage barge
The pectoralis major
Is a tale of yore
And my only real exercise is to go for a ride
In the god-damned car