A new poem by Erik Kennedy.

Lots of Press-Ups

In my dream I was working out
so I could win street fights against fascists.
My trainer asked if I had any special fitness goals.
Not losing the fights, I said.
Winning the fights.

My training was designed to develop
all the essential competencies.
I had bins thrown at me. I was attacked with
two-by-fours like a dangerous degenerate.
We stopped short of setting me on fire.

In weeks I became notably unpathetic
and in the top percentile of readiness.
And my trainer said to me: For now,
use what I have taught you to dig up weeds
and to carry stranded pilot whales back into the sea.