I have started asking for power.
My friends mostly.
I would like power of attorney
Or to be charged with feeding their golden retriever
while they are in Florida.

The two of them go there every year now.

I see them running on a beach.
Or sitting on blankets, reading.

When I picture the bronze-age fleece
of his chest, burnished in cocoa oil
the picture blots out

And I go back to thinking about me.

I’ve never been.
When they get back, I certainly don’t ask to see any pictures.

She just smiles while her husband writes out the check in the kitchen.

Her glossy lips beam.
She’s squatted down, dark legs tightly balanced,
In no panty hose and the gray skirt she wears for air travel.

Her free hand is buried
In the shaggy, thick flank of the dog
Who’s already gone back to sleep.

That’s when I start to crave additional power.

The kind that gets you on a beach in Florida,

Proud and certain in the appeal
Of a tangled thatch of hair.