I look at women

at 30

at 40—

their prime was 16.

Now,

their faces are smashed-in

they look sour,

even when they smile.

I’m nice to them,

and just because I listen

doesn’t mean I’m attracted.

All of us

get together

and nod.

It’s a

tedious business

to pretend.

I like to talk about what I shouldn’t

and she lets me.

“When I was in 6th grade, my next-door-neighbor wrapped his chairs and furniture in plastic. I saw him moving everything outside. It was spring (new life). Then, he walked into his garage at night, crawled under some plastic, and blew his brains out.”

“Were there signs?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I was only a kid. After it happened, my dad told me that he always knew there was something wrong with him.”

Her eyes teared up.

“Why do people kill themselves?” She asked.

“Because it’s painful to be around people and it’s painful to be alone.”

“Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”

“Yes. But I’ll never kill myself.”

“Why not?”

“I want to out-live them all.”

“You’re a narcissist.”

“Probably.”

“Hey, one of my patients had exploding diarrhea the other day.”

“You don’t say.”

“When I touched her, she told me, I made her hot.”

“Your job would kill me,” I said.

People are like ants

stepped-on

by God.

We go for walks together, in the sunlight.