an ode to sweat

rivulets run down my face
drops trickle into my eye
solitary beads travel down my arm
and at my wrist let fly

to fall down three feet to the floor
where they drop onto the mat
and form a slowly spreading mass
that although dark stays flat.

the puddles form upon my skin
from collarbone to wrist,
I use my towel to wipe them off
but all those drops resist

my efforts to keep my skin dry
and smooth and so salt-free,
perspiration propagates fullspeed
and outsweats even me.

my hair turns dark
my clothes gain weight
I itch and scratch and glow
and pray that the spinning class soon ends
so home to the shower I may go.

I know I'll do this once again
and then once more and more
so all that's in may work its way out
and cleanse my every pore.

beware! you who may come to spin
I warn you now so know
that if you sit by me in class
you'll note my ample sweat flow.

yes I use deodorant
it doesn't seem to matter
we sweat, we glow, we spin, we drip
and never cease our chatter

I think it's to distract ourselves
from all the sweat pouring from us
or perhaps it's to keep our minds away
from those saddles that tend to numb us

regardless of our classroom tricks
we perspire and wipe it away,
and perform our rituals once again
when we return the following day.

oh sweat, oh you who cool us off
and keep our bodies steady,
perhaps you might slack off a bit . . .
oh fine, I'll keep my towel ready
to wipe and blot and soak it up
while still new droplets lurk,
while always being grateful for
the sweat, my reward for hard work.