At the gym, two TV monitors
watch us. On the first TV,
the Iraq War,
scenes of torture,
while we sweat. The other
runs a soap--some man,
talking to friends says,
quite seriously, “When you
get married, she’s the most
beautiful woman in the world.”
Whatever.

In the locker room, guys talk
of wives they want
to escape from—even jogging
is better. When I leave,
both TVs still preach. I relax
in my car, just like when
I’d escape Sunday School,
safe, at last, in my music,
free of Pastor’s shake,
rattle and roll.