See You Next Year

Doc says I should eat better,
exercise more. I know.
I know.

He asks if I remember
what we talked about
last time.

I scour my crusted memory
but these wellness visits blur
together like a field of pinwheels
in a lightning storm.

I suppose I could drink
a little less, leave the bar
before my Honda carriage
turns back into a pumpkin
but why would I want to outlive
my doctor?

We have a nice arrangement—
I visit every October,
listen to his lecture,
feign concern at numbers—
some too high, some too low,
shake hands after he’s wiped
away the Vaseline.

See you next year.