Push Ups

"Push Ups"

For Mosely, wherever he might be

(Sgt. Smith: "Mosely's gonna set the fuckin' record for
the battalion. He just needs 230.")

That night down on the floor
while we counted, your arms,
so fluid, pumped, stretched,
dropped your body an inch above
the tile, then lifted you so high
that something had to give--
the floor, the tiles, the sky--something
had to break. No sweat, just
repetitions, "100," "200," " 229!"

and then you stopped. I knew
why once, the time, the atmosphere,
the need to articulate something
that could not be grunted out
to prove something to yourself
and all of us. Goddamn but you
were cool when you held yourself so still,
looked up at all of us and laughed.

You lifted one hand from the floor, brushed
a drop of sweat from your lip, stood up
and walked away.


H. Palmer Hall

Posted over on Palmer's Poems
[in From the Periphery: poems and essays]