Mitzvah at year’s end??

So how did it get to be almost 2020, and how did I get to be an invisible elder?  Ah, but I do not always go gentle into that good night!  Today, for instance, I was on the leg press machine at the gym when a ditty on the blaring soundtrack caught my ear.  Now, I do not object to lyrics about undulating booties and people on the dance floor wanting to go home with each other, etc.  Only natural.  But when I hear the f-word six times and counting in one song, I am compelled to act.  I went to the desk, announcing myself to my young tattooed friend thusly:  “Here comes trouble, again.” I pointed out that I’m a poet and as such I pay exquisite attention to every word I hear, especially when it’s imposed on a group, and I’m no prude, but I find the mindless repetition of the f-word to be both hyper-aggressive, woefully lacking in imagination, and probably not kosher with his boss.  He confessed to having been zoned out as to the music, and yes, such language is against the gym’s policy, and he needs me. Then he changed the channel.

Venerable gym rat, ringing out the old year and doing my part for the new

Author: Phoebe Dishman

Phoebe H. Dishman was born and raised in Beaumont, Texas. She is a wife, mother, and grandmother. An essayist and poet, she teaches adult Sunday school, compiles a monthly prayer calendar, edits the Big Thicket Association quarterly bulletin, and keeps a keen eye and ear open for birds. View all posts by Phoebe Dishman