What are all these freaking people doing here?

The yoga studio is crammed

like a New York subway car

at rush hour

in the rain

during a taxi strike!

For fuck sake can’t these people drink

to find peace?

I blame yoga pants going mass!

And Groupon! Deepak Chopra!

elephant journal!

The fact that yoga works! And myself

for telling every one I know,

“You gotta check it out!”

Putz!

I came here to get into my own landscape.

Frolic through my happy space where

none of these people reside.

I‘m going to hire a yoga bouncer—big woman

with yoga buff arms and other-worldly

stare—

to tell people, “Nope, you’re not on the list.”

“Wow! So many smiling bodies!” the teacher says.

“Let’s make room for your fellow yogis!”

She’s all giddy ‘cause she thinks she’s the reason

for the crowd.

Oh look at me I’m a chakra rock star!

(Mental note: tell the bouncer, “the teacher is not on

the list.”)

My inner guru says either go or go 

with the flow.

So I fold my mat in half.
I make room.

I do the entire class on half the mat.

Not only that; I use only a part

of that part.

My Chair is a toad stool.

My Boat sails an ocean of a sweat droplet.

My Pigeon rests on the edge

of the thinnest ledge of my mat.

In Savasana I stretch out full

length on one single inch.

I create endless space on half my mat.

Everyone’s invited.

(Mental note: cancel the bouncer.)

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Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: David McSpadden/Flickr