12. going for broke
— remember when we were poor?
i said, raising a glass of beer
in the stylish restaurant and
taking a deep sip
— remember when we ate at Wendy’s
before going grocery shopping?
— so we wouldn’t buy
too much, Dave said —
yeah. those years in the little
brick house in tucson
with two cats in the yard
and a bun in the oven
squeezing out a
silly dissertation
about ts eliot
trying to imagine
a future where
every unexpected bill
wouldn’t raise major
alarms and dave
wouldn’t say
in the grotty pub
with the visiting irish
— is it okay
if i have another beer? —
— for fuck’s sake, man!
are you that pussy whipped? —
the irish glaring at me
over the top of his pint
as if i clutched dave’s
balls in my hand
and now we’re so rich
we don’t look at the balance
the bun is writing
her own dissertation
and worrying about money
we’re in our 60s eating
expensive pizza in expensive clothes
sipping draft beer without thinking
a new century
security of a sort
but still somehow
the downslope
