Home Stretch

He had a choice once
Between two women,
One gnarled in office hours,
Frantic graphs, leather chairs,
Giant-eyed windows opening up
The morning to efficiency
And quarterly reports.

The other, his artist,
Tubes of paint,
Spaghetti dinners,
Spittled arguments about
Too much restraint.
“You never take any risks,”
She told him.

Twenty minutes late
To his urologist, forty years later,
A young woman in her mid-forties,
An amateur art collector,
Today, dressed in black and violet silk,
Tapping keys in front of a computer screen,
“Your PSA looks good,
Prostate’s a bit enlarged,
But no worries on that front…”

The home stretch,
Transparent still to beauty,
But open now
To the body’s failing statistics.

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