I close my eyes
to the instruction of the guru’s voice
and try to get in touch
with my breath.
The Caucasian man next to me
Sounds as if he’s
as air wheezes nosily out of him.
I wish he’s not settled next to me –
far too close for comfort.
We move into cat-cow
as the nymph in sheer tights
thrusts her butt onto my face
tight and taut,
twin globes of muscles
gagging me with envy.
I clench my double sagging behind
without much success.
Downward dog provides a
Hey sexy lady behind me,
yes you with the skimpy bra
your breasts are protesting
to be let out of the constraint.
I see my neighbour notices it too.
Tree is my favourite pose
for I’m strong in balancing on one leg,
unless it’s the dreaded dancer pose
then I regress to a hippo
among the graceful flamingos,
which brings a grin from my neighbor
showing more sympathy than empathy.
The voice moves out of his Buddha seat
and swirls around brave warriors,
now frozen to the count of eight.
My eyes follow as the guru
mumbles encouragement into
sexy lady’s ear which earns him a smile.
He passes me with hardly a glance,
as I wobble and sway,
to straighten my neighbour’s arm.
I hate the nymph,
as she rises to an elegant bow,
her hands clasping her ankles
her chin high in proud glory,
while I deflate like a rubber dingy.
My neighbor grunts,
like he’s about to expel a baby,
the way I did while giving birth.
I return his empathetic grin.
Don’t think he appreciates it.
From a bridge to the wheel,
I pant and push
to get at least a pose
worthy of an Instagram post.
At last I get it,
as I collapse into Savasana.
I’ve known all along,
I am but a corpse living a lie.