08 Chasing Vanity Poem by Lori Boulard

Playing the mouse on the wheel,
I chase my health
on my usual machine,
my legs running
in little metal circles
on the rubber road by the cooler
going nowhere.

Alas, in walks Adonis
from some better place-
at least I imagine so.
If only that short one there
would step aside. If only
his balding skull were transparent,
or he'd tended to that single
rebellious tuft in the back
concealing Mystery Man.

Perhaps if I'd attained
the x-ray vision I'd expected
from Lasik's fifteen minutes of pain...

But there he remains, eclipsing
the path of perfection, oblivious
to the theory of relativity
where sexual attraction is concerned,
perhaps believing that his presence
here alone warrants gifts of grace
and gravity reversal.

I stare so long I lose my pace,
bells warning of sure disaster
should I stop mid-torture.
It's futile anyway, I tell myself,
and dress for coffee at three.

Sure, I'm too good for him.
Maybe he has an unusual nose.
Besides, I was almost actually
breaking a sweat.