Running In Place

I like to go to the gym at night
when it's full of people whose jobs buy them memberships
for the insurance discount. I sit outside,
watch the runners on treadmills,
lined up in front of floor to ceiling windows.
A display at some zoo that puts animals to work—
Do not feed the exercising monkeys.

Their ears plugged with headphones,
eyes glued to a single television
probably showing the news. Some look panicked,
out of breath, others focused
or angry—all sweaty, running in place,
getting nowhere. Of course,
who isn't angry while watching the news?
Some career-minded woman
with overly white teeth, every strand of hair
perfectly placed, informing us in non-regional diction
how the world is somehow shittier today
than it was yesterday.
I could breathe against the glass,
draw hello backwards, no one would notice.