I had a dream last Tuesday night that Jesus showed
up at my gym and started working out. At first, I
was delighted and honored. But I thought it odd that
he pretty much stuck to that machine where you sit
with your legs bent and then push them straight out
to lift a stack of weights.

He was grunting and gritting his teeth as he pushed
his legs out and back, his robes swaying with the
movement. I thought, “Man, what an amateur - the
savior is going to really have sore muscles in the
morning.”

I walked over and suggested (politely) that maybe
he should work a little on upper body strength. But
he just sniffed and acted like I didn’t know what I
was talking about. The other thing that bugged me
was that he kept calling me, “My son.”

Boy, was I glad when I woke up! After my shower,
I made sure to throw my towel in the hamper,
unlike someone (and I’m not naming any names)
who left their sweaty towel sitting on the bench.

Professor Poetry Hound

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-day-at-the-gym/