In honor of movement, I write "Stand." :)
Stand at the beckoning of a stranger,
as she curls that wicked finger fat with
sedentary sitting.
A lifestyle you didn’t choose
when you were
able to choose.
Stand with your back pressed solidly
to the wall where
no one, save yourself, wants you to be.
Watch her wave and crank that wretched wand
as much she wants.
You do not follow. You stand. You
Stand and hold tight
that sticky rubber lining the metal frame
in front of you, enclosing you like a cage.
“Come here,” she says, into your ear, into your head,
a space she thinks is nothing but.
“Come here,” she says, into your ear, into your head.
Stand at the beckoning of a stranger,
that you wish to choose your position.
Stand that it is not hers.
I welcome any and all comments, suggestions, and/or constructive criticism.
Turns out I'm super sick, so nothing has been going as scheduled. Oh well.
Happy weekend, Workshoppers!
Erin