Morning at the gym I’m seeing
ten monitors between each row of ellipticals,
a warp and woof of electronic cloth.
Is it arm day or leg day?
I haven’t decided because I want to flee
the overhead news dump about when the heart stops, oxygen levels,
use of unnecessary force, and on the screen
closest to me, confusion between a taser and a gun,
the same shit that killed a young black man
in my city several years ago. Others doing sit ups and crushing it,
I want to run, escape, feel sick, nauseous,
hold on tight to my ride wiped antiseptically clean
by its previous occupant.
We wear masks and look into each other’s eyes,
hiding and visible, needing to choose.