Origami Master in Tai-Chi Class

In Blondin Park’s Community Centre,

I’m wearing tracksuit bottoms, the only

image of a male reflected in the glass,

during my Tai-Chi Class.

Why can’t I grasp the Opening Movements

of Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane,

Bald Man Spreading Wings,

Waving Hands like a Dove?

Kinetic Misfit among these women,

they Step Back and Repulse the Monkey,

leapt onto my back, pulling me down

onto this mat; each movement

derails, jars, mis-times, entangles

brain and limbs.

I wish that I was an Origami black-belt,

could fold myself into the smallest

paper crane and fly away over the park.