the fighter

he shows me his scar,
opening his hospital robe,
showing his grey
haired body,
lean and not at all
as old as you might
think.
he points to where
they cut
and took out the offending
visitor.
a red stitched
worm in a straight
line crawls across his belly.
i look, then turn
my head away.
he laughs. I'm not dead
yet, he says.
i'm a fighter,
then he sits back down
on the chair
and asks for water.