Ode to the Gym Instructor

Thrashing limbs thumping out gym hymns.
Machine's flash count heart rates, miles and calories.
Sweat chorused blood courses through straining veins.
A gym instructor long past 40.
Living in a studio flat with a couple of exercise balls.
Not fighting a war anymore just a slipped six pack.
Strip lighting bouncing off the smooth pate.
He used to be in his prime.
A soldier.
Now he can't leave the biscuits in the drawer.
He expertly teaches younger men how to pack iron.
Always with a smile.
Troubled lads love him.
He's in his prime again.

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device