Why is a scar on a man a mark of distinction,
on a woman a mark of disfigurement?

I don’t know.

Why is it funny when a man loses his hair,
and tragic when a woman loses hers?

I don’t know.

What will you tell her
when the X-Rays turn the scar
on her breast raw-
hamburger red?

I don’t know.

When she’s bald, lost the hair
from her eyebrows,
and lies with closed eyes,
with a skeletal look,
will you kiss her
and tell her
she’s beautiful?

I don’t know.

What do you do
in the bedroom,
when she is thinking
of death,
and she cries?
I hold her hand, and I breathe.