AT THE END OF HIS EIGHTH DECADE
What does he want to do with the rest of his life?
Since he outlived his peers by eight standard deviations,
he’s inclined to reach for the brass ring of infinite life.
He rouses the sleepy Weimaraner between his legs
for a last round of carnal pleasure before returning
to the sea—singing a favorite chant from his army platoon:
Every night before retreat, Sgt McGillicutty beats his meat,
sound off—one two, three four.
He writes more poems, eats heaping portions of succulent seafood,
hoards a vast collection of amaryllis bulbs—
to watch them burst into a meadow of lovers kissing the sunshine,
and returns to the sea, swimming in a school of fish with best friends
alongside a smiling mermaid who used to be his loving wife.