In which a poet realizes he’d better exit a yoga class

After Man Ray, White Back, watercolor by William Eaton, 3 July 2018Along the floor of that class there rippled such a rage,

As woman upon woman waited on mats not rafts,

For some soft music and exercises that thousands

Of penguins badly needing icebergs would not assuage,

Nor rid them of even their coldest or sexiest

Or of so many other desires and drafts.


Such rage and such desire incompletely suppressed;

Frustrations submerged in what is our now becoming

Not comely, but too customary environment.

My feeling was: it’s challenging for human beings,

To say nothing of any deeply cleansing breaths.


And so I tightly and carefully re-rolled my mat

Before taking with me, in my haste, too many less

Than charitable imaginings which I may work at

Learning (with a smile) to regret, but not repress.


  1. Love it! I’ll always think of it when I go to yoga class and there’s only one man out of 16 participants.

    • Women, make haste to love us,
      For we sing of wonders still,
      And we are the last thin cracks
      That progress has yet to fill!

      — translation of verse by Vadim Shershenevich

      Best, Bill

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