Searching for missing pieces at the YMCA

The naked girl was at the gym today (shorts that can hardly
be called shorts, now can they?, resting below hip bones. I
think she has a new tattoo) and the boys who stand out front
drinking coffee and smoking on a break from their workout
(I admire those boys. Such stamina!)

and it reminded me that I haven’t seen the old man with dress
shoes and knee-highs for a while (I hope that he’s all right. It’s
strange that we’ll never know). I worry that I haven’t kept you
up to date on these details

that you’ll never hear about the old woman in the shower (she
had the perfect hair. Flowing white and grey) who said I smelled
nice (and, of course, I wasn’t sure of the proper response so I
smiled and held up my bottle of Life Brand body wash), or how
I waited by the pay phones for two hours

trying to look busy (wondering, will this magazine fool anyone?,
flipping past photographs of teenage celebrities on the beach,
skimming articles about high society murders and old Hollywood
love affairs) all the while, watching the door.