namaste brother

your yoga instructor
angelica
sees you in
the back row
struggling
to do the
praying mantis
pose and stops
the class.
have you been
drinking, she
shouts out
in her non
yoga voice.
wobbling on one
leg, your
head held
high in the air,
you stretch
out your arms,
flapping them like
a large bird,
and say, maybe.
well, I told
you before, no
drinking before
class.
I just had one
you tell her,
no big deal. one
martini is not
going to stop me.
I can do this.
come up front she
says. now.
she is sister
Mary Margret
at St. Thomas Moore.
berating me, about
to beat my knuckles
with a stick.
no, you, tell her.
I like the view from
here. this makes
the entire class
of women groan,
you being the only
man in the room,
except for Irvin
who is in
the front row already
and is doing
the downward dog
while this goes on.
pick up your yoga
mat and come up
here she says.
no, you tell her again.
which makes her rush
back to get in your face
with her fist
curled. how about
I kick your drunk
butt in front of
everyone, she says,
bouncing around.
I take kickboxing too,
she says. you don't
want to mess with me.
you know, you are pretty
cute when your angry,
you tell her, pulling
up your yoga pants
as far as they will go.
when you awaken
the room is empty,
there is a knot on
your head
and someone has poured
out all of your spring
water upon your
face. Namaste.