A Degeneracy


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.


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