Fat with the Promise of Lean Streaks

PERSONAL TRAINER

Late harvest saw us lifting bales to trailers And up from the trailers to shippon lofts Using a 2-pronged pitchfork or pikel Jabbed centre-bale and hefted up in one sweep.   At the glooming of a late summer’s day The last loads would be brought in As a chill caught sweat and chaff With aches akimbo as the tractor backed up.   Dank bales leaved with Cheshire autumn From the flats along the Ankersplatt A fair jag on and one last tussle To put them overhead aired aloft.   “Tha mun shape lad Dunna be like th’owd woman With a belly-full of butter milk An wimmy-wammy i’the bitlin.   There inna any way but reet. Tha mun stand reet lad - Jab an swing in one go Shifting as th’weight rises”.   Big men and me a youth of sixteen Jokes and hard judgments - But they are long gone Mown down by salty home-cured bacon - Fat with the promise of lean streaks .

Late in life I have come back to the gym And succumbed to the debonaire charm Of my personal trainer Maria Who comes from Wroclaw or ‘vrotswaf.   She has devised a program to improve me And I stand looking at myself in the mirror Holding a weighted ball out-stretched Balancing on a BoSu and bending low.   I try to think of new things to say or ask About Poland to reduce the pain - But then she has me bridging And holding for 10 more – she can’t count.   “That’s very good” She says unconvincingly: “Lift your tummy up And squeeze your glutes.   Take a break if you are dizzy - Next time bring a water bottle. Now for your favourite The lunges, leading leg straight at first”.   Beautiful people in pink and black lycra Pounding music and purposeful endeavour And I am still here Ready for a chick-pea and kinwa salad at the Maranui - Fat with the promise of lean streaks.