Allegory (al’-le-go-ry): A sustained metaphor continued through whole sentences or even through a whole discourse.
The gym’s exercises contorted my life. I was squatting—a frog of help. I was doing handstands of love. Jumping jacks of joy. Push-ups of popularity. Squat-thrusts of hope. Cartwheels of fear. All complicated moves, and easily screwed up. Once I did a chin-up of friendship and was ridiculed for ten repetitions, and pushed off my exercise mat, and made into a joke.
I’ve started drinking excessively and did the drunk— staggering, slurring words, falling down and puking—all easily mastered poses. Easily induced by the effects of alcohol’s chemical motive that only needs to be imbibed. The performance of everyday life takes care of itself—drunks don’t do push-ups of popularity. No more going to the gym looking for love and longevity—doing all the exercises required of the good life.
I have run my jockstrap down my sink’s garbage disposal. I don’t need its chafing or support. I let my balls swing free. I am outside the gym—I have left it behind. Now, I walk, I talk. There are no set moves, poses, or displays. There’s just me comporting with others like me at an AA meeting every week. In some respects, I’ve cast off the burden of “trying.” I just “am,” I am sober and I practice good hygiene—the only aspect of my life stemming from the gym that I still perform..
I don’t care if I measure up. I don’t care if I make the grade. All I want to do is stay sober and brush my teeth twice a day.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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