Monday, his feet will be in the stirrups again.
Much as his wife used to endure such invasion
when she was an object of interest to medical plumbers
hereafter known as ob-gyn practitioners
and had to turn years of modesty conditioning
( “Keep your knees together, Honey!”)
upside-down and let her private parts be
objects of intense scrutiny and speculation
now he was about to continue his adventure
in which the only practical course was to
what the heck let it all hang out
There was a time all “male” issues
in the sedate lives of hospitals
were handled by orderlies;
nurses stayed away. Not so lately:
his catheter a few years before
was installed by a very professional
who gave his virility an
test in verticality
that wasn’t supposed to happen
in the chaste sixth decade of his life
— at least that’s what he had thought . . . .
So as it turns out, about the stirrups thing:
wifey is having the last laugh, it would seem
at least she sure thinks it’s funny that
he’s getting to test his spurs
as he had urged her to, so many years ago.
He hasn’t told his earnestly
that one, yet.
They can keep their