i sat on a bench in the gym locker room.
sweat poured from my body.
i watched it drip off my wrist bands.
it was sunday afternoon, and no-one was in there,
'cept a little porter.
he was mopping the floor.
i thought of the bleakness his future.
maybe he would get lucky.
who knows...good shit can still happen,
he was young and thin,
of african american descent.
we made eye contact and smiled at each other.
i wished i had his youth.
he probably wished he had my money.
i decided to test my theory.
i told him i would give him every dime i had,
to be his age again.
he laughed and said he would make the trade.
i told him it would be a bad deal for him.
he shook his head in disbelief.
he said he'd make the trade.
youth is wasted on the young.