Perhaps they could look around, like I do,
trying to determine what one another’s
troubles might be. But it would take
a mighty diagnostician to ascertain their problems
when all one can see are the tops of
those spare, forward-leaning heads,
and all one can listen to are quiet coughs
or the buzz of even quieter conversation.
Me? I don’t want to know why they’re here.
I’m waiting for the Over-50 exam, which is
to medicine what the Early Bird Special is to dining.
Besides, I’ve got my own problems.
According to this magazine’s menu of maladies,
I’ll be having a delicious, malicious, pernicious anemia
…with a side order of andropause.