Dear Boy at the Gym

You propped your torso above the sweaty mat,

resting on tense arms, arms

rippling and sculpted and

wrapped in serpentine tattoos

I'd long stopped crunching my body into a pretzel

so that I could commiserate with my friend

on the topic of protein bars and tiramisu

and so that I could watch your tanktop trembling

out of the corner of my eye—I noticed

the rivulets of sweat drip past your sideburns—

but then you said "c'mon girls, don't you want to

get that summer body?"

and "bikini season" and "get back to work"

I left the mat so your eyes could return

to your own glistening skin

Who can shut the door on summer when it knocks?

and

is this not my body?