Poetry reading at Iron John’s Brewing Company, Tucson, AZ. Click on Departing to view the video.
The financial planner points to a chart,
says he expects me to die in 2040.
I don’t hold it against him—
he’s supposed to be actuarial.
Though I do take offense
when he denotes me as a period
on a downward sloping graph.
I let him know the inky dot
doesn’t look anything like me—
I’m taller and in much better shape.
As he abruptly closes his binder,
I take the opportunity to tell him
when he should plan to leave.
(first published in Right Hand Pointing, 2018)