Bless the man who dismounted an elliptical
just as a song blaring from a far room of the gym ended.
His timing was perfect, to know when he poked
his sweaty head into a dark doorway
and hollered Yeah-uh! then chicken-pumped his neck
all 20 of us would hear, clench our jaws
and butts, then glance away as quickly as we’d glanced.
Bless the chocolate Tootsie Pop of a boy,
white T-shirt smooshed against
the room’s window, his brown shaggy hair
and chin stubble framing a big, drooly mouth.
May they learn that an exercise class isn’t theatre,
just as I’m learning it’s not a contest for bounciest
merengue marcher, or least likely
to need water breaks. Bless the woman who brought to class
a monogrammed pink towel she pulled from
a tiny rhinestone clutch; every dab of her face after a song
made me feel sloppy and wrong
in my pancake syrup-stained tank, loose bun
and sneakers I’d washed free of dog poop.
Give me strength, as I had then
to think I love you each time
she reached for her towel, and to feel the meaning
of those words melt hate away.
Or maybe it was the speed at which I shimmied my chest
that did the melting, the wavy steam
of the small room as I spun my pelvis like a coin in a funnel.
Help me to renew my gym membership,
the first in my life, despite the gym’s excessive emails
alerting me of sales, apps, and sales in apps
and teach me to like group settings,
how 20 of us running in place on tiptoes, butts jiggling
to a song that’s one thundering buzz
can feel like a giant shaking tarp, woven and indestructible
in any storm. Bless everyone who joins
our class seeking such shelter.
Marianne Kunkel is the author of Hillary, Made Up (Stephen F. Austin State University Press) and The Laughing Game (Finishing Line Press), two anthologies, and poems that have appeared in The Missouri Review, The Notre Dame Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Rattle, and elsewhere. She is an Associate Professor of English at Johnson County Community College. She holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Florida and a Ph.D. in English from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, where she was managing editor of Prairie Schooner and the African Poetry Book Fund. She is the co-editor-in-chief of Kansas City Review. She loves making poems and baking pies, and she posts images of both on Instagram at @asliceofpoetry.