Martina with the wooden face
is late to Yoga every week -
without fail.
Her eyes fidget.
She stifles yawns.
She sighs and complains
in her clipped German accent.
I wonder why she bothers?
'I have to tell you...'
the words spilled in a torrent,
'Hans and I...
We're going to adopt
some children.
Can I bring them
to your dancing classes? '
Her face reddened
suddenly, beautifully
and hot tears exploded
from her eyes.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/transformation-7/
