Grand Opening by Matthew Byrne

I dropped my health club membership

and joined a yoga studio.  I started

with a level one class, where refugees

from lifting and running united

in the pursuit of increased flexibility.

We expected yoga to be of a more

meditative nature, but our sweat

spilled all over the mats.  I must confess

that I probably would have hung it up

were the teacher not a sinewy redhead

with a tendency to press her hips on me

during adjustments.  When I advanced

to level two, my classmates, mostly

female, achieved positions that would

make a pornographer blush.  I became

paranoid that my classmates could sense

my imaginings, so I made it my mission

to detach myself from the eroticism

of it all.  I practiced every day, often twice,

and tried to close my eyes as much

as possible.  I failed, I should be locked up,

but the studio I opened lacks not

in the membership department.