Ode to trainers

Odes

Americans prefer the softer sound

of sneakers; a word on tip-toe,

silent, unfitting. As pathetic

as its English counterpart.

Occasionally, they are head collectors

of bunnies made of dust;

they lurk dormant

waiting for the next exercise burst

that will set them back on track,

for God knows how long.

They hate the ground, and like fists

push their way above it,

until gravity brings them down

in a thunderous whoosh.

They come and go, they ebb and tide

and wait for the next round

to get them out of their comfort zone:

The snug spot below the bed

needs some serious dusting.