Gladiators

Gladiators

Backstage, the poets wait like gladiators,
hydrating, meditating, training quatrains.

They look fit,
but the green room, in the mirror,
their eyes glint
and in the cortex, adrenalin is articulate.

Backstage the poets are sweating,
doing syntax sit ups, they practice,
as their lungs, half flaccid couplets
pump punctuation, image chains, acrostics
back into the atmosphere.

Backstage, the poets deadlift edit,
do alliteration arm curls,
cadence bench press
siblance star jumps.

Backstage the poets are doing social stretches,
making half friends for four days
they tell each other antonyms,
suggest line breaks,
praise rhythms, rhymes and lunges.

But each think, my metaphor is a winner
my metaphor is pretty fit
my metaphor has a bigger penis than yours
and could probably steal your girlfriend.

Backstage the poets are not gladiators,
they are just people who aren’t cool enough to have normal conversations.