Spartans has balls. <br />It’s your kinda place. <br /> <br />Walled with mirrors, <br />ringing with rock, <br />stinking of bodies <br />pumping iron. <br /> <br />Machines like robots <br />stand to attention, <br />row upon row <br />heavy with weights. <br /> <br />Gym junkies pump <br />ridiculous muscles <br />straining like Arnie, <br />pushing their edge. <br /> <br />The fat over fifties <br />(dripping with sweat) <br />rekindle the spark <br />of their pimply days. <br /> <br />You step on the treadmill, <br />increase the speed, <br />check out machines, <br />test your new body. <br /> <br />You don’t give a toss <br />for the new rehab centre <br />with its air conditioning <br />and manicured programs. <br /> <br />Spartans has balls. <br />It’s your kinda place.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spartans-gym/
