So, I’m sat in a group, meditating,
The guy next to me yawns.
He squeaks around in his wooden chair,
Pulls his sleeves up,
Rubs his arm,
More chair squeaks.
And again, a yawn –
But clearly audible,
Like through headphones,
Air rushing into those two lungs.
His stomach rumbles.
Then, another yawn.
These yawns are coming,
With mere seconds elapsed in between.
“Karlos,” I think out loudly, “you’re body is telling you something.
If you placed a pen in your hand and gave it free range,
It would write ‘Hey – Karlos! Go home, fall into our over-sized settee,
Or go all the way,
Straight up to bed,
Listen to yourself,
I’m lacking in compassion,