The crunchy surface of the floor is ridged
It waves before me in its frozen position
Calling me to mount and slide, and mount and slide
Up and down, rise and fall, climb and descend.
The ridges are my enemy and the downward slope my friend
Then my knees begin to hurt
And I pray for more ups and fewer downs
But it remains constant: up, down, up, down, up
Never gaining more or losing less
But remaining, by average, constant and ruffled
Like a potato chip.
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