An Old Married Couple Cross the Street
The Golden Years,
By some perverse reverse alchemy:
Rusting solitude,
Riveted silence,
A junk yard of could have beens,
All wrapped up in silence.
Italian by virtue of birth—
A foreign tongue in a foreign land—
Cross a Canadian street:
She, with a trail of varicose veins
Walking down her leg;
He, with the superfluous poundage of waiting
Baseball cap on his head.
The late summer spot-light:
Hand in hand,
Hand in hand,
They cross from one side to one other side,
Hand in hand.
Golden sun sunshine.
Golden.
To beg, borrow, or steal,
A nugget or two . . .
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