Chances are good my number will be up
before my kindergarten son even
graduates from high school, my doctor hints,
given my scores on my latest blood test.
In the past, she let me have the Bible’s full
threescore & ten, but now the numbers tell,
she says, a different story: I am twice
as likely as your average man to fall
victim to my heart. When you factor in
family history, forget it; my ticker
is a time bomb, as if I didn’t know.
In matters of the heart I always go
strictly by the numbers, after all,
counting down to the certain end of the line.