At the Gym

 This salt-stain spot

 marks the place where men

 lay down their heads,

 back to the bench,

 and hoist nothing

 that need be lifted

 but some burden they've chosen

 this time: more reps,

 more weight, the upward shove

 of it leaving, collectively,

 this sign of where we've been:

 shroud-stain, negative

 flashed onto the vinyl

 where we push something

 unyielding skyward,

 gaining some power

 at least over flesh,

 which goads with desire,

 and terrifies with frailty.

 Who could say who's

 added his heat to the nimbus

 of our intent, here where

 we make ourselves:

 something difficult

 lifted, pressed or curled,

 Power over beauty,

 power over power!

 Though there's something more

 tender, beneath our vanity,

 our will to become objects

 of desire: we sweat the mark

 of our presence onto the cloth.

 Here is some halo

 the living made together.

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