On the table, my breath held, the CAT scan
Looks inside for the tiny stone that says "No."
No flow. No go. Like a baby that won't be born.
A reluctant birth, here at the start of my old age.
There's nothing to do but be a kind of drainage,
And hope that, though painful, nothing's torn.
I finally figured why my daughter stands off so:
(The stone can wait.) because I'm not a good man.
Another one about old age. The last, I hope.