Here at the Restaurant

Here at the restaurant,

After we three pairs of old, old friends

Have arranged ourselves to accommodate

A second back surgery, a recent bypass, a Parkinson’s, and several hearing aids,

And after the one who can’t see without her trifocals

Listens while her husband reads her the menu,

And after we have waved away the bread basket

And ordered our careful dinners of lean meat or fish with the sauce on the side, no potatoes just vegetables,

And before we start discussing

Personal trainer versus going to the gym.

Retirement home versus putting in an elevator.

And does anyone know a good gastroenterologist?

And is anyone else having trouble with their feet?

And should we be doing something with probiotics?

And can we really trust those generic drugs?

And is this normal forgetting or is it Al, Alz—what do they call that disease?

And just as we begin to clink our wineglasses,

Some of which hold sparkling water, not wine,

We smile at one another and make a toast that once seemed boring, but not anymore:

To health.

To health.

To health.

To health.

To health.

To health.