The Sweat Cauldron

Hungry-eyed old men
sift through calisthenicking limbs,
ogling the young: boys, girls—
it doesn't matter.
Every body in unison, disjointedly,
strains its joints, lifts arms and legs
against the planet's gravity.
Futile, futile.
The bods relax; the guts and butts
touch down, drop anchor, and reunite with
Mudder Earth.
The transient moisture of such labors
collects and drips,
gets ragwi

The Sweat Cauldron