THE TREADMILL
by
Pam Davies
They put me on a treadmill 
And there's nothing wrong with that,
If you don't use a walking stick
And you don't wear a hat!
"I'll set it to it's slowest point", 
The young man said to me,
"So that you can keep up with it 
And use it easily!"
"Hold on here to this front rail, 
It's there to keep you steady."
"Right, I'm going to turn it on. 
Now, are you set and ready?"
"Yes" I said, (a silent prayer 
was spoken in my mind),
Praying that I might keep up 
And not be left behind.
But on this day, it was the day, 
God had no time to listen,
Because the answer to my prayer, 
Was definitely missing!
Off I went, the feet went back, 
And slightly to the right,
And holding on the rail in front, 
It flew me like a kite!
"Take longer strides !" 
I heard him shout,
My efforts to disparage.
But I was busy coping, 
With my loss of undercarriage!
Measuring my heart rate, 
I must say, no longer key.
I could feel the undertaker, 
As he measured me.
I could see the headlines 
In the local 'Bugle" call.
"Woman killed by treadmill, 
As she flys off through the wall!"
But there was a saviour, 
As my lungs began to cough,
'Don't worry', yelled the young man, 
'I'm just going to turn it off!'
The end