Voices on the Wind
by Leslie Clark
When I was ten, my hula hoop was fuchsia with a white stripe
around the circumference that created an optical illusion
of a bright circle in the air as I spun the lightweight hoop
around my practically non-existent waist. The hoop created
hours of entertainment and numerous neighborhood rivalries.
Now, five decades later, I have a “fitness” hoop, alleged
to burn calories, strengthen my core, work off
fat layers. It was accompanied by an instructional DVD
that shows me all the ways I can employ it to exercise,
not only my core, but arms, legs–an all-over workout.
This hoop came in weighted segments,
assembled by clicking its parts together.
Lavender and grey, it has an outer layer of softest foam,
so as not to traumatize my age-fragile skin.
I take it out on the patio for lots of spinning room
and find that hula hooping, like riding a bike,
is another skill apparently never forgotten.
My dog, leery of this weird object, keeps his distance
and stares at me as if I’ve really lost my mind this time.
When I attempt to spin the thing on my arm, it sails
over the patio wall; neighbors, I’m sure, suspect
the invasion of flying saucers. Practice needed there.
But I can spin the hoop forever around my waist.
Like educational trends or government policies,
around and around and around we go.