Puffy the Stretch Slayer

32 degrees Fahrenheit

They walk past in winter coats

and puffy gloves, raised eyebrows wiggle

In disapproval

It’s my backyard.

Tiresome, where is the stash of fucks to give?

My grey pullover and lilac leggings, checked a box

The fuzzy grip socks fit the weather, ignored on tea time chat

The juiciest bits reworked for scale

Keep the judgement at bay, idle minds

match the energy

For every opinion, I’d have a stack of bills

I unfurl my bright yellow mat, a daredevil

Place the navy yoga belt at the top, oh the Gail

And breathe, slow.

I kick my right leg back, hinge and pivot

sideways

into pigeon pose, holding

waiting for pressure

the release in gold

routine

keeps me grounded

As the earth spins on its axis

and people come and go

Tomorrow Echo says it’s 20 degrees

I’ll roll my eyes too