The one thing men do at the gym that drives me mad

MOBILE PHONE MEN

On waking, the expectant hours of a day circle like bees

In the air above my head. I’d bat them away and go back to sleep

But a roof leak in the pouring rain and the strings of obligation

Force me out of bed. Insurance renewals

For house, car, van and contents,

MOTs on vehicles, blood tests on me; culling water lilies

In chest-high waders to give fish room to breathe,

And then the gym. Those three flights of stairs

Are sometimes like climbing a cliff face in concrete slippers

And three-inch long fingernails. Despite limbs like logs

I work my way through the moving metal and mean it,

Ten reps at a time. But the obstacles are men on their mobiles

Sitting mindlessly on equipment they have just used,

Or intend to use or will never use. Each unmoving man.

Is spellbound by Snapchat, WhatsApp, playlists, emails,

Facebook, TikTok and texts. While the women seem immune

The men are hooked line and sinker, not masters of their own minds.

In between each set they sit, transfixed for too long

To work up a sweat. They come to maintain their muscle mass

And polish up their fitness levels via hours on Instagram.