Before and After

Before and After (2000)

I sweat and work out by proxy
pumping with vigor the wooden
lever of my own worn recliner.
My den is as warm as a sauna
so I slouch with my shirt open
to air out. My pet sin
is idleness because it takes
so little effort. When I think
of my power tools rusting
in the workshop I need a rest
so I batter my own face with
my fists to prove I’m tough
then sag in my lounge chair
where I’m blasé about the next
rough round of self-loathing.

After the title fight the night
ends and dawn creeps through blinds
like a burglar. I hear the jeers even
with the crowd muted. I have nothing
on my blank slate and my black walls
and could care less what news
flashes will wash over the glass
palette I brush with a button
press as my nose extends with each
line that forms another white lie
to boil my blood in a forge
that blasts wooden heads to skin
thick enough to deflect my thoughts
of living puppets without strings
in a heap and down for the count.