a line in the sand

my friend jimmy
who works downtown
for a brokerage firm
wears a nice suit
and puts a little
color in his
hair to hide the
grey. he's always
well tanned and
works out at the
gym. he's a nice
guy and we meet
for a late lunch every
now and then to shoot
the breeze. sitting
outside i notice
how the women give
him that sly
glance as if they
aren't looking, but
really they are. he tells
me as he adjusts
his sunglasses and
sips his late afternoon
martini that he's done
with women over the
age of fifty. we
are about the same age
and i ask him what's up.
he says that they have no
libido, most of them,
that is. they have
no desire or need
for sex. menopause, he
says, something about
hormones or something.
i don't know. he says
that he's tired of
working so hard on
his dates, the theater,
the opera, the concerts,
dinner and museums.
he's tired of being
a companion, which is
what they really want.
walking in the park,
hiking old rag mountain.
jesus, he says. one woman
the other night said
that she doesn't have
sex on school nights.
i shake my head. damn,
i say, that's a shame.
he continues on his rant.
i go home after dropping
a couple of hundred
bucks and i might get
a lousy kiss, maybe a hug
too. he shrugs and
shakes his head. i'm
done with fifty, he
says. they wonder why
we older guys want to
meet younger women, well
i'll tell you plain
and simple. he takes
off his sunglasses
and looks me in the eye.
sex. he says. younger
women want, love and
need it. i'm not
dead yet, he says. i
nod, but don't say
a word. i have no
idea what he's talking
about.