Taking on Water

-His eyes peer into me,
trying to pry me open.
“I’m taking on water,”
he says, his eyes dry, irritated,
red. They search me over,
his eyes, trying to find an opening.
They look into my eyes. I close
them. I could feel those eyes, studying
me, my receding hairline. Falling,
to observe my shoes. The soles
intact. Climbing along my inseam,
the eyes. There’s a hole, almost
unnoticeable in the denim, near my
waist. He misses it. There’s a sigh. I
open my eyes again. They study, slowly
rising, my abdomen, then my chest, settle
on the left part of me and there’s a pain, I
feel it. I wince. He smiles, almost contented,
almost upset.
“You’re taking on water too.”