Industrial Age Lament

a Petrarchan sonnet

This age of industry does havoc wreak.
Back in the days of old, man could rely
On work to be the exercise whereby
His health could be maintained: of this I speak.
My job: computer and accounting geek.
With naught but brain and fingers I get by.
My brain spends hours with the bits and bytes;
My fingers work their forty hour week.
But this activity can't stimulate
My heart and lungs and muscles to expend
The energy that keeps my body fit.
So to the treadmill (I confess I hate)
I go, propelled by questions from my friend,
Like: "how long?" and "how far?" "Come now ... admit!"