all the pretty girls

after showing me
the pristine new car
in his garage,
unwrapping the cloth of
the Aston Martin,
he opens his mouth
to show me the dental work that he's
going to have
in an hour.

then shifts his hands to his
stomach where he curls
his shirt against the fleshy
lobes
of a hernia.
that's next week, he says,
then rolls up
his pant leg
to show me his swollen knee.
November for that,
he says,
shaking his head.

don't even ask me about my
heart.
i'm falling apart. don't
get old.
you might not believe it
now, he says, but I used
to get all the pretty girls.
he smiles, winks,
then grimaces
as he gets into his car,
he revs the engine, then
drives away.