The Gospel of Lööps

by Robert Beveridge

The personal trainer just said
“no” over and over while you
attempted to bench press
the chihuahua chorus line.
The coins fell out of your back
pocket straight through the floor.
For all you know they went
right past that trench
in the Indian Ocean, are on their
way to the crab nebula. Perhaps
they just wanted to escape
the constant yips, the negative
attitude of the only other adult
in the room, the bad rap, the odor
of diseased lemons and scorched
redwood common to every gym,
every bowling alley, every Wall
Street brothel you have attended.