The Ladies at the Y

This morning the women were all gathered around the scales
in the locker room.   I dare you to step on it, one woman said to me.
Oh, I can't. I said. I gave that up for lent.
Me, too, they all shouted and went hurrying off to the pool.

There's a popular aqua-dance class  at 9AM
that has a regular following of women.
Last week there was a fire drill for the pre-K children
on an ice-cold day.   The whole Y joined in,
except for the ladies in the pool.  First they got out,
then they got in again, then someone told them to get out.
They tried to turn us into popsicles, one of the ladies told me.

A while ago, one of the ladies brought in copies of a poem
and passed them around the locker room.
Every morning come rain, snow, sleet or
shine, the ladies of the Y  . . .  she began  reading loudly,
only to be interrupted by another woman:
The ladies of the Y are certifiable! We're certifiable.
And everyone joined in, We're certifiable! 
The poet tried several times to complete her poem
but to no avail.  The chant got louder and louder,
We're certifiable! We're certifiable!