Chinese Fake

Many, many moons ago I went on a t’ai-chi retreat. We'd each choose a tree to stand in front of, make a circle with our arms (shoulders relaxed, palms inwards, fingertips pointing at fingertips not touching) and sit on a horse that wasn't there. Each morning started with an hour of that after a lump of yeast washed down with a cup of hot water. “B12 vitamiiins arrw impotant.” The old Chinese self-proclaimed Tao sage was supposed to go round checking our pose and give us words of wisdom, but he preferred to grope the women's buttocks, legs or exposed skin and not take any notice of the male participants.

brewing storm
the Xmas tree tethered
to the bus stop

On his way from one woman to the next (those with big breasts) he'd cough up what sounded like a jelly-fish and spit it out on the lawn where we'd go through his version of the short Yang style t'ai-chi after our “standing”.

classical training
I keep the moon
on my head


…

file date: December 12, 2014

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