brokenheartist

it's good to keep it tight with brokenheartists,
fifty bucks a month,
open early to late,
jump ropes,
heavy bags,
worn canvas,
kettle bells,

it's good to break a sweat with brokenheartists,
in a rusty gym,
where ghosts wait between shafts of sunlight,
dust flies and flickers off broken mirrors,

I used to love a brokenheartist,
but she hated her daddy,

sparring hard to the foot-work rhythm,
when the bell rang,
she would catch her breath,
we'd sit together in the dark,
sometimes she'd be crying,
there was no consolation,
packing up,
I would leave and shut the lights,
and she would fly away,
to sleep quietly,
with the pigeons,
in the rafters,

see you in the morning brokenheartist.