I live in a little town where the
average age is pushing
or pushed past sixty.
This morning, at my yearly, self-imposed,
over a big steak
"no blood, please",
I read the papers and overheard:
“I can't breathe through my nose !”
Their conversation segued
to a friend that had
his jaw bone scraped
because his screw-in tooth
after the implant.
bent over their eggs and noodles,
pondered how much
air should they put in the Posturepedic
for a good night's sleep,
then they realized they
and this was disconcerting
The littlest, frailest lady
Said she missed a question on the
driver's test because she didn't notice
the picutre of the tiny hand sticking out the window
indicating a right turn.
This woman drives
a three ton SUV through town, with a
pet Llapso tucked under her chin
as she maneuvers through mid-day traffic
with a double latte in her good hand.
Yesterday, I ate my soup
as some geezer described his eye surgery and the
story about a friend that
had his eye removed
while they scraped
cancer out of the void.
I wished for the days that
people kept their intimacies
to themselves, or excused themselves
if they belched or made wind
fiercely enough to make
the silverware on my table rattle.
I scraped more lean
meat from the bone
and finished my meal.