Cramp. Clench. Wetness. Release.
No matter. Keep going.
One step. One step. One step.
Somewhere a phone is lifting, zooming.
Somewhere a boy is typing LOL.
Somewhere my mother will see this clip
and call, and I will not answer.
Next station. Only the next station.
I have been clean my whole life.
Clean desk, clean record, clean smile
for the boss, the interview, the passport photo.
Spotless. Presentable. Controlled.
Today my body has outvoted me.
Today I am something else. Today I am finishing.
This rep. Only this rep.
Three stations left. The iron doesn't flinch.
The sandbag doesn't scroll or share.
The medicine ball only wants to be caught
and thrown, caught and thrown, caught and thrown.
Ten. One. Ten. One. Ten.
Let them post it. Let them laugh.
Let them never know the lightness of a body
that has already betrayed you, already humiliated you,
and still carries you home.