my father was still lathering
his leathery
face
with creams.
lotions,
chock full of collagen
and vitamins.
he'd lie out in the sun
for hours
and listen to his radio,
plugged in
by a twenty-foot extension
cord
from the house.
he made a protein
shake
every morning,
fruit and avocados.
he did sit ups, push-ups
in his living room,
stretching his arms high
into the air.
he colored his hair
blonde the way it was when
he was twenty
and sailing the seven seas.
he often bragged that he never
needed a blue pill
when Esther came over
for an afternoon
visit, him
with his red Speedo still on.
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