scars

she shows you a scar
on her
arm. dog bite,
she says. daschund,
smooth haired red.
i had a pork
chop in my hand
at the time.
you lift up your pant
leg and show
her a line of thin
scratches above your ankle.
siamese cats, you
tell her. they came
out of an alley
at night,
wearing shorts
and just leaving
the fish market.
she lifts up her blouse
and points at a thin
line running
north to south.
twisted intestines,
she smiles. almost
died. a cab driver
who happened to be
a surgeon from
indonesia opened me
me up just in time
i was in his taxi,
going down broadway.
hmmm. you say, you win,
buckling your pants
back up, not showing
her your appendectomy
scar.